


Prodigy

by Plajus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Car Accidents, Child Genius, F/F, Later sexual content, M/M, Mild Abuse Mentioned, Minor Jake English/Dirk Strider, Mute Dirk, Panic Attacks, Poverty, Prostitution, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 71,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plajus/pseuds/Plajus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is only seventeen when his parents die and he's left with a very unique four-year-old little brother to raise on his own. He's burning through savings, and any of his future dreams need to be put on hold so he can focus on making sure his only family isn't taken away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider and you have a test coming up tomorrow, and, as always, you’ve procrastinated. You’re slaving over the many notes that you’ve taken from your biology class and you’re talking to John in a Skype call since he’s the bio wiz and he’s not going to let you forget that.

“It’s the epidermis,” John says. “The wall! The plant wall, epidermis! Epidermis, Dave!”

You groan loudly, loud enough to cover up his voice until he laughs and starts screaming the word epidermis back at you and your groaning turns into a yell to cover up his voice again until it’s just an annoying screaming battle. You run out of breath first, gasping. John is laughing at you.

“You’re going to wake your brother,” John says, his voice hoarse now.

“Nah, the ‘rents took him to the store with them. They only take him if they’re going together because having a four-year-old around keeps them from fighting all the time.”

“Man, they’re still doing that?”

You shrug. Of course they are. You haven’t heard your parents say something nice to each other in years. You must have been a toddler the last time you saw them kiss. Honestly, you’re not sure how your mother even had Dirk, and while she was pregnant you dared to ask her if the baby belonged to another man, but she just slapped you and said of course not. Sure enough, Dirk came out looking just as pale as you, grew into way too many freckles like you, and was sprouting a minor case of albinism. Just like you. Your baby pictures next to Dirk’s basically made you two look like twins.

Dirk was an accident though. You were born while your parents were just married and in love. You have dim memories of them kissing. They fell out of love while you were in middle school. Now you’re in high school and you’re not scared that they’re going to get divorced, you’re just waiting for it impatiently. Then Dirk, the uh-oh, was born. Now they’re stuck together. And you’re stuck here, because there’s no way in hell you’re letting those two duds raise him without you.

“It’s just to the store,” you say. “It’s not enough time for them to start a screaming match. Those freak Dirk out.”

John flips through his biology book on screen and shrugs. “Whenever I see him on the screen with you he never seems freaked out. Your little brother is the most chill thing to ever exist. Most four-year-olds spend their days screaming and asking their parents for quarters for the gumball machine. Dirk just kind of exists quietly.”

“He doesn’t talk,” you say. John knows this, but you remind him anyway.

“Okay, but still.”

Dirk has never spoken. He’s four and nothing has ever come out of his mouth. You grew worried about it a while after he turned a year old and convinced your parents (after a lot of fighting) that he should see a doctor because something might be wrong with him, and the thought that he might have brain damage made you ask your mother if she drank while she was pregnant. She slapped you again, said that she didn’t, but you didn’t believe her. You took Dirk to the doctor by yourself and the doctor said he might have some form of autism, but it was hard to tell since nothing seemed effected but his speech. He might have selective mutism, but it was odd to see it as such a young age, although he was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder.

You didn’t tell your parents. You knew that if they heard the word autism they’d treat Dirk different, they’d stick him in some special education school far away and start using slurs and call him a burden. No one saw what you saw.

What you saw was Dirk’s intelligence. One time, about a year ago, you were working on math homework. It was multiple choice, some type of division and multiplication worksheet. You worked on the floor while Dirk was playing with his set of horses next to you, pressed against your side. You couldn’t figure a problem out. Dirk held his toy horse in his hands, petting the mane, and then he was looking at your paper quietly for a while until his tiny hand reached out, his pointer finger pressing against answer C. After some calculations you found he was correct.

You tried again with the next one, finding it humorous at first. He answered five in a row correctly. You asked him how he knew the answered, but Dirk didn’t speak, and he didn’t look at you. He went back to playing with his horses.

About six months ago he made the Eiffel Tower out of Legos. You see him read some of your full length novels from school. He reads it slowly and you see his brows furrow with frustration at big words, but that’s not the point, because kids his age shouldn’t be reading novels in the first place. They should be reading ABC books. He should be sounding out the word “apple” next to the A and pointing to the red fruit. Instead he’s learning about Jane Austen’s internalized misogyny.

John has taken your silence as a signal to continue with your biology lesson. He asks you to tell him where you can find parenchyma cells in the common plant and you drag a hand down your face because you already know you’re going to fail this shit test.

Then the phone rings.

“Saved by the ring!” you yell as you hop out of bed.

“Ditch the phone, you have to learn about the science of our world!”

You give John the middle finger before you’re out of his field of vision. He’s still yelling something back on your laptop, but you move down the hall and into the kitchen where you can pick up the phone.

“Heeeeeello?”

“Is this the Strider household?”

“Maybe. Who’s this?”

“This is Officer Rodney, we found this number on speed dial in the victim’s phone. There’s been an accident.”

 

 

You’re panting from running. It was only three blocks away, but you’re exhausted, and you’ve been staring at flashing blue and red lights the entire time. You left John behind on the Skype call without explanation. Your jacket that you threw on is slipping down one shoulder and your shoes aren’t tied.

You see it now. The old black car, upside down. There’s glass all over the street and the engine is smoking and the rusty streetlight is showing a pool of red near the driver’s seat window. There are neighbors out in robes and pajamas standing around the caution tape and there’s a frantic woman with a bloody head crying by a paramedic next to one of the ambulances. You spot one body bag and your panting turns into gasping as you shove past neighbors you’ve never spoken to so you can try and reach the chaos in the middle. You duck under the tape and a police officer catches you, pressing against your chest.

“That’s my family!” you yell.

The officer steps aside right away, able to tell how frantic you are. You take your shades off and look around the mess. There’s another van that looks pretty badly wrapped around a street light and your parents’ car looks like it’s been crushed on every side and you think you see a hand hanging out of one of the windows and you know it’s your dad’s, and no one is helping him so you also know he’s dead.

You’re beginning to hyperventilate. That’s when you see him. He’s sitting on the curb, wrapped in a shock blanket. There’s a woman in a suit crouching next to him and speaking, but your little brother is staring at the destroyed car without any expression, or at least it seems like it, but you know your little brother better than anyone, and that expressionless face showed pure fear in his eyes that he’s not going to verbally announce.

You run over, pushing a paramedic out of the way and yell your brother’s name. Dirk looks away from the car and finds you on the dimly lit street and stands up, the shock blanket falling away. He has a cut on his forehead that’s been bandaged and you see a bad bruise on his shoulder, but Dirk doesn’t let you inspect him anymore, he’s reaching his hands up, a plead to be carried, and you respond immediately, lifting him up into your arms and clutching him to your chest.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, still panting and freaking out. “I’ve got you, kiddo.”

Dirk hugs you around the neck, saying nothing. You didn’t expect him to. You can feel his little heart racing and proving that he’s scared even when he can’t tell anyone or ask for help, he just comes to you because he expects you to know what’s wrong right away based on just his eyes. And you do always know.

You quietly beg your brother to tell you what happened, even when you know he’s a mute four-year-old. Instead, the woman in the suit speaks to you. She says she’s a child psychologist and was called down to help console Dirk. She looks awkward and you wonder if this is her first time in a hectic scene like this, because it’s definitely your first time.

“He’s mute,” you say. “He’s- He’s not like other kids, he won’t talk to you, it’s not gonna work, what happened here?”

The psychologist turns and finds the closest officer and explains who you are. The officer introduces herself as the woman from the phone and she looks like she’s going to shake your hand, but she stops when she realizes how tightly you’re clutching to Dirk and how much you’re shaking. You listen very quietly as everything is explained.

Your parents were very distracted. They were most likely beginning to fight, the other driver says she saw one yelling. Dad was driving, he ran a red light and tried to turn the wheel, hitting the other driver from the side and causing them to flip at least twice. The other driver continued driving in shock until she hit a pole. Your parents weren’t wearing seatbelts. Dad’s body is still stuck in the car. Your mom was thrown out through the windshield. They found Dirk strapped in his car seat and he had a piece of glass from the shattered window stuck in his forehead but he had already been patched up and stitched before you arrived. He didn’t cry or shake or fight them, even when they found him hanging upside down in the accident. They found a phone in one of your parents’ pockets and found you as the most called number and also listed as “home.”

The officer asks what you’d like to do now. She offered to call a social worker to help you with your new situation. You could also go talk to the other driver. You can go look at the body.

You whisper that you need a minute.

You go back to the curb and sit down. Dirk still clutches you around the neck, his forehead pressed against your skin. You rub his back slowly, up and down. He says nothing. You tuck your eyes down against his shoulder and arm because he’s so small and you shake and cry and Dirk is so, so very quiet as he hugs you and sits in your lap.

 

 

The next few weeks for you are hell. You phone John one night and tell him everything and you think he might be crying on his end of the call, but it’s hard to tell. He says he can tell Rose himself because you can’t do it. You have too much shit to do.

The funeral is uneventful. You put Dirk in a nice little button up and you drive the two of you to the church where the service is being held. No one in your family was religious, but it was the cheapest place to use and the pastor there said he’d lead the service for you. You feel guilty, because the caskets are nothing special. You bought them with money that came in sympathy cards and the tombstones came out of your own savings.

Dirk holds your hand the entire time. The caskets are closed. Family that you’ve never met or heard of shake your hand over and over again saying how sorry they are, what good people your parents were, how brave you are, how big you’ve gotten, how cute Dirk is. People try to touch your little brother, to hug him or shake his hand, but he would step back and hold your leg as you told people that he didn’t like being touched. He hated it. The only people that he was okay with touching him were… well, you. He let your parents touch him sometimes but he grew uncomfortable after a while and always came back to you.

He sits in your lap during the service. He doesn’t listen to the pastor or to the people who go up to the podium to speak. He plays with the buttons on your shirt cuffs, unbuttoning them and then buttoning them again and again and again. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. You wonder if he’s thinking about the crash and if it’s scarred him for good. Maybe he’s honestly bored and doesn’t want to be here. You wonder if he’s guilty that he survived.

You force yourself to mingle a little longer after the service. Dirk keeps holding your hand and you know he wants to be held up high in your arms, but you’re tired.

When you go home you take your jacket off and rip the tie off of your neck and then sit down on the couch to cover your eyes and try to hold everything in. Then you start to cry. You gasp and hate how emotional you are and you know your dad would be angry at you for being so weak, but you can’t help it, and you can’t help the way your body shudders.

Something touches your knee and you flinch, uncovering your eyes. Dirk is standing there, holding out a bottle of apple juice from the fridge. You sniffle and try to wipe your eyes, but you’re still crying a little as you smile and take the bottle from him.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

You don’t drink from the bottle. You set it on the coffee table and Dirk immediately raises his arms with secure knowledge that you’ll pick him up this time, and you do, pulling him into your lap and leaning back into the couch as you kiss his head and rub his back.

Your voice is still a whisper as you say, “I might have to drop out. Of school, I mean. They only have part time work available for me at work. I might have to get another one to keep up with this house. Food, electric bills. Christ.”

Dirk squeezes around your neck.

“It’ll be okay.”

You feel your little brother nod. You pull him away from your chest and make him meet your eyes while his little hand comes up and rubs against your cheek, trying to wipe away just one or two of your tears, but they’re still there regardless of how much he wants to get rid of them.

“You know what I’m saying, right?” you ask.

He nods again, just once, his head dipping with a simple blink before he’s wiping at your cheeks again. You catch his hands, holding them in your bigger hands until his seem to disappear in your grip. Then you smile at him.

“You’re not an accident,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move his head or change his expression or give any sign that shows he understands what you mean, but given his IQ level you’re almost positive he knows.

 

 

A social worker visits pretty often for a while. Her name is Gladys and she’s pretty nice and understanding about your situation rather than attacking you to try and take Dirk away. She helps you understand how to pay the bills and how taxes work and tons of other grown up things that your parents never taught you.

You try going to school. You drop Dirk off at the elementary school first, but your school starts earlier than his so he hangs out in the cafeteria playing on his old Game Boy until the school day starts. After classes are done you walk to the elementary school again and wait for half an hour on the swing set doing your homework until you hear the bell ring and watch the kids file out in a freedom frenzy. While the others all yell and run and jump, Dirk just walks. He always looks around almost frantically to find you and then sets a straight track towards you.

“Good day?” you ask.

Dirk shrugs. You reach out and he reaches back to hold your hand as you get off the swing and start heading for the sidewalk. Since he doesn’t speak you rely on yes and no questions, but after living with Dirk for four years it doesn’t really bother you.

“Did you show off at all?”

He shrugs again.

“Did you have any interesting lessons?”

He nods and you start listing different classes. Math, English, art. Dirk starts nodding when you get to history. With some more questions you narrow it down to history about Native Americans. For the hell of it, you ask him what he learned. He looks across the street and says nothing.

When you get home you do the usual. You get Dirk a snack and tell him to do his homework and you tell him that all the emergency numbers are on the counter and to please use the stool if he needs to get on the counter because he has a tendency to just climb on whatever he can and almost split his head open when he was two. When you work, the neighbor comes over to check on Dirk once every hour. She’s a young mother with two of her own kids, Mrs. Kenway, and she’s so much more successful than you, but she understands your situation. After meeting Dirk she understood that he wasn’t the kind of kid that needed babysitting. He could make his own meals, he knew when to brush his teeth, he knew how to contact the authorities, his homework was always done perfectly and on time. You didn’t need someone to hover him, you just needed her to peek into the house every once in a while and make sure he was okay so that the social worker wouldn’t get angry and so that Dirk wouldn’t get taken away from you.

You text Mrs. Kenway to let her know you’re heading off and that you’ll be home after ten. Then you put on your uniform for work and kiss Dirk’s temple and he nods when you tell him to promise that he’ll lock the door behind you.

You always wait outside the door until you hear the lock click. Then you drive to work.

For the past few months you’ve had a part time job at an Applebee’s a few miles away from your neighborhood. After the incident with your parents the staff gave you a sympathy cards with fifty dollars tucked in, and your boss agreed to start working you almost six and a half hours every night so that you can make enough money to afford the bills that came with the house, along with food and necessities.

You put in your brown contacts before work since it’s not professional to wear shades and the lights hurt your eyes after a while. You smile and welcome customers and laugh at the dumb dad jokes and do your best to be polite when a young lady flirts with you. Sometimes the moms do too. You clean up the restaurant even when you’re not closed yet because you have school again in the morning. You’re already nodding off as you wipe down a table. Then you clock out collect your tips and drive home feeling exhausted.

You text Mrs. Kenway to let her know you’re home. When you get there and unlock the door, Dirk is always awake. You think he sleeps beforehand, but the sound of you tossing your keys on the counter and kicking your shoes off always causes him to come down the hallway, his small feet pattering.

“You should be asleep,” you say as you unbutton your black shirt that has stains that aren’t seen through the dark cloth, but you can definitely feel it. You think there’s beer on your collar.

You always tell him he should be asleep, but he’s always awake. You look up the staircase where he stands at the top, clutching a red notebook to his chest that you know he got from your backpack. It’s your notebook full of comics and little stories that you write, but you haven’t made a new one in about three weeks, not since the accident.

Dirk waits patiently as you eat some leftovers in the fridge and then head to the bathroom to wash your face. You change into your pajamas and brush your teeth and then go to Dirk’s room where he’s waiting on the bed, still holding that red notebook. You smile at him and he scoots over so you can sit next to him and take the notebook and start flipping through it until his hand reaches out to touch a page, signally what story he’d like to hear. It’s a short story you wrote in study hall about a man’s journey in the woods where he meets some deer with some really stupid comics of the situation at the end.

You read with the right voices and it’s the only time you catch Dirk smiling. He rests his head on your arm until you’ve finished the story. The clock says it’s eleven.

“You’ve got school in the morning. Bed time,” you say and close the notebook, setting it on Dirk’s nightstand. You tuck him into bed and even put up with your fear to grab Lil Cal on the floor and put him in Dirk’s arms before you lean over and press a soft kiss to his head. You turn the lights off and tell him goodnight and leave the door open.

When you get to your room you collapse. Your muscles ache and your eyes feel dry and you almost wish you could fall apart from how exhausted you are. You don’t know when your next day off is, but you try to spend all your spare minutes with your little brother no matter how heavy your eyes feel.

 

 

For two months, you manage. You go to school and go to work, go to school and go to work. On weekends you’re able to work in about twenty hours. Suddenly the bills come in. You pay less than two hundred for your electric bill, and then you pay for the water bill. You put some money in your savings and then you put a little bit in Dirk’s saving account too as a future college fund. You pay for gas and you pick up toothpaste and shampoo and Dirk’s anxiety medication. You paid Mrs. Kenway twenty dollars as a thank you for checking on Dirk when you work.

Then you’re sitting alone on the couch with twenty dollars and sixty-seven cents in your hand. You haven’t even bought groceries. You’re scared. You’re so tired that you know you’re depressed. Your alarm is a death sentence every morning and you’re falling asleep in your classes and your grades are beginning to drop. Hell, you think you might have a test tomorrow?

“Dirk,” you call out.

It’s quiet until you hear his footsteps from upstairs and you catch him standing at the top of the little staircase, waiting.

“Gotta go shopping,” you say.

Dirk makes his way down the stairs and gets his sweater on and you slip your own on. You’re about to help your little brother put his shoes on, but he’s already tying them perfectly well, just like normal kindergarteners do, and you just stand there watching impressed. He stands up when he’s done and reaches out for your hand and you both leave the house together.

The gas has been expensive so you decide to walk. It’s not cold and it’s not hot and the store is only a little over a mile away.

When you get to the store, you pause. Dirk stops with you and you both look up at the Dollar Tree sign. There’s a huge sticker on every window. “Everything $1!” You’ve been reduced to the cheapest store that exists. You think Dirk squeezes your hand, but you know that you’re heading into the store now and the door doesn’t ring a bell like most dollar-themed stores, this one just creaks. A cashier calls a happy hello, stocking an endcap. You manage a smile and Dirk presses closer into your side.

When you took Dirk to the doctor a year ago, not only was the idea of autism brought up, but also of his anxiety disorder. Usually those illnesses come up later, sometimes not even until high school, but Dirk was a lot different than other children, and you have to give him a pill every morning on school days so that the crowds of kids and loud teachers and ringing bells don’t freak him out. It’s a Saturday today and he hasn’t taken the medication because you assumed you’d be home all day, so you can tell he’s nervous as he sticks to your side and shies away from anyone near you.

You get a small cart and Dirk looks uncomfortable when you let go of his hand, but you lift him into the cart and the caged walls make him feel safe and isolated. You walk down the food aisle where everything is one dollar and you try not to worry as Dirk points to things he wants and you obey and drop them in the cart. You get five packs of ramen for one dollar, and that’s a full meal, so you get two of those. Two dollars, ten ramen packs. How did you get here?

You get frozen vegetables and fruit, because even if you’re eating cheap you need to make sure Dirk is eating healthy. Dirk lightly points at a bag of Tootsie rolls but your frown sadly and shake your head, continuing to push the cart. “’S bad for you,” you say instead of telling him the real truth. That you can only get what you really need.

You get frozen waffles and cereal and veggie chips and orange juice, which Dirk is very happy about. He holds the jug close in the cart, even when it’s cold and practically the size of him. You get microwavable meals in shame, but you try to be happy for your little brother. You crack jokes and long rants about the shitty generic brand names and you catch Dirk smiling sometimes. He doesn’t have a laughing voice or a giggling voice. The only time you’ve heard is voice is when he grunts in discomfort.

The food had no tax, so you can get twenty items. You’re looking for one more thing to get, heading towards the registers. You consider grabbing a small carton of milk (the most they can sell for a buck), and speak to your brother who’s sitting in a pond rather than a sea of groceries. “What should we get? Got one more dollar. More hot dogs? Want a breakfast sandwich?”

He’s looking somewhere else. You follow his eyes, but he tries to look at you and pretend he wasn’t just staring at the item he really wants. But you know.

He’s too good for you, and you give in.

When you pass the item, you grab it. My Little Pony trading cards. You hand it over and Dirk can’t fight you, he just accepts it and holds it closer to his chest than he was with the jug of orange juice. You know he wants to rip it open already like most children do, but Dirk is very obedient and smart, and he knows to wait.

The cashier is a pretty young girl with curled hair and winged eyeliner. She smiles, and she has a cute gap in her teeth. Her name tag says “Bri.”

“Hi! Find everything all right?” she asks. You heard her say the same exact thing to five other customers who came through before you, and you’re positive she’s not super concerned about whether you found everything all right. But you nod anyway, because you did at least find everything all right.

You put everything on the conveyer belt. Dirk is looking at the back of his trading card pack and then he’s gazing up at the balloons that the store sells. He seems to be eyeing a Spider-Man one, or perhaps a birthday one with a monkey on it.

“Hey, lil’ man,” you say, leaning towards Dirk in the cart. “Can you hand that to the cashier? She’s gotta scan it, then it’ll be back in your hands faster than it takes light to travel to the moon and back.”

He holds up his hand, five fingers. Five seconds. You nod.

“Wow! What a smart little guy,” Bri says. She speaks directly to Dirk. “You are just the cutest thing, aren’t you?”

Dirk doesn’t look amused, but he does hold out his trading cards. Sure enough she scans it and hands it back, all under five seconds. He looks at you after, and you can read his expression perfectly. He hates being talked to like he’s a toddler when really he’s a rocket-high IQ stuck in a mute, anxiety-riddled four-year-old’s body.

“What’s your name?” the cashier pushes, then mutters more normally to you: “Twenty-oh-six.”

You hand her the twenty dollar bill and reply, “He doesn’t talk. His name is Dirk. And he knows he’s cute. Right?”

Dirk nods, opening his trading cards now. He rips it open with some frustration, because he knows how the packaging opens, but his little fingers just aren’t strong enough. You reach over, open the wrapper, and then hand it back quickly enough so that he doesn’t feel embarrassed that he couldn’t do it himself, and then you return to looking for the change in your pockets. The six cents came from the trading cards. Bri is just beaming at you.

“Shit,” you whisper. “I think the change is back home.” You look at the groceries, deciding which food item you’ll have to get rid of. Out of nineteen items, everything seems way too important and you’re growing nervous and Dirk isn’t playing with his cards anymore, he’s staring at you. He knows you. He knows you’re worried.

“I’ve got it!” Bri announces. She digs in her pocket and pulls out a pile of pennies.

“No, I couldn’t—”

“Tons of people leave their extra change behind. Too busy to wait for me to count it out, I guess. So I save it to help. It’s just six cents!”

She’s already typed it in and the till pops out and she puts in your twenty and her own six cents. She’s still all smiles as she tucks your receipt into one of your bags and tells you to have a great day and hopes that she’ll see you again soon. You lift Dirk out of the cart and he reaches up one hand, offering to carry one of the bags. You choose the lightest one that has the ramen and cereal and give it to him, his new MLP cards tucked in his pocket so that he can hold the bag in one hand and hold your hand in the other.

It’s a long walk home and you end up carrying all the bags halfway, even when you can tell Dirk wants to help, but he’s just too small and tired right now. You feed him a granola bar when you get home and he spreads out his new cards on the counter to look at each one closely as he chews. You put away your sad groceries and your wallet cries in emptiness.

 

 

You’re so tired. You read to Dirk tonight and you’re fairly certain he’s asleep. Mrs. Kenway kept an eye on him tonight while you worked until midnight and you plan on paying her a little extra for staying up late for you. Your paycheck says no, but your politeness and gratitude says yes and more.

Your eyes are dry and you didn’t have enough time to shower so you smell like steak sauce and mash potatoes and burnt meat. You might have time in the morning before school. Your biology folder is lying on your bed, a reminder that you have to study for another test, but you’re just way too exhausted and when you hit the bed face first, your eyes tear up.

You haven’t cried since the funeral.

But now, you curl up and you shove your face into a pillow and start to weep. You’re so, so, so, so tired. All the time. You’re exhausted and you can’t keep up with school and that makes you so frustrated, and your paychecks make you frustrated, and you snapped at Dirk the other day when he kept tugging on your sleeve when you were trying to do just a little homework in the morning. He couldn’t reach his medication in the cabinet and you patted his head and apologized for yelling, but he didn’t seem too effected.

You haven’t talked to your friends much. You’ve practically given up on it, sending simple things like “work and school, sorry, cant talk” in your texts.

If Dirk heard you crying, you’re sure he’d come to you. So you’re glad when you’re left alone. It’s almost one in the morning. You have to get up at six-thirty, and that alone makes you cry more. You’re so tired of all of this. Mom and Dad were not good parents, and as they fell out of love with each other, you fell out of love with them too. You were extremely sad that they were dead, because after all, they did raise you. Right now you wish you had them. At least they had money. At least you had time to truly live.

Your cell phone vibrates. You expect it to be John, because he tries to talk to you the most, even when you’re busy all the damn time. You see Rose’s number though. Even though there are tears running down your face, you answer it. She’s practically a sister, and besides Dirk, you trust no one more.

You don’t even speak. You hold the phone to your ear, still gasping on your small sobs.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You open your mouth, but you can’t speak because of your hiccupping. You shove your face into your sleeve instead, but it only muffles the sound, and you’re so mad. You want to talk. You want to fix everything.

“It’s okay,” Rose says. Her voice is so sweet. “Just keep crying. It’s fine, Dave.”

So you do. You weep and shake and hiccup. After a minute you whisper, “Tell me about your day.”

And she does. Listening to her go on and on really helps you calm down. She talks about how she’s pretty tired of school in New York. She’s working on a new novel. She talks about a big crush she has on a girl in her class. You think she’s crying somehow too. It’s something about the way she speaks, the way she’s not being funny or sarcastic anymore. You think she hiccups, too.

You can’t cry anymore. You’re too tired. You sit up in bed, still in your smelly uniform.

“Rose,” you say quietly. The whole house is quiet. The world is far too quiet right now.

“How was your day?” she asks. She’s crying too.

You tell her about your day quietly enough so that you match the atmosphere around you. You tell her about pouring cereal for Dirk this morning, about walking him to school, about falling asleep in your classes. You tell her about how you spilt ten clean plates on the floor at work and that your manger said you were fired as a joke, but you took it seriously and almost cried in front of the whole kitchen until your boss frantically explained he was only lightening the mood and then let you take home a bunch of leftovers. You tell her you’re burning through your parents’ savings. There wasn’t much, but there was enough, and it’s all disappearing. You tell her you’re terrified.

“Me too,” she says.

You’re both talking as if you’re next to each other in the dark.

“Why are you crying?” you ask. “You can’t cry over me. That’s not how the crying of equivalent exchange works. Only one person can cry. You need to save the water for both of us.”

She lets out a weak laugh. She whispers so softly, “I’m pregnant.”

You sit up straight in bed. The creak of the mattress is the only dramatic sound that can be given for her, otherwise is the unnerving silence that you’re both stuck in.

“Who?”

You can’t see her, but you can imagine her shrugging helplessly before you listen to her answer, “Dumb guy. I don’t know. I’m a senior, and I was feeling pressured by my parents. You know how they are. They hate my makeup, my clothes, my writing. They want me to do something ‘practical.’ Be a mathematician. I rebelled? I don’t even like boys, Dave. They’re smelly and full of patriarchy.”

“I know.”

“But he was the epitome of goth, and my parents hated him. I figured, what the fuck? YOLO, right? I’m using birth control, he had a condom and everything, I just…”

She’s crying again. You listen to her this time. While you listen sadly to her sobbing you hear that familiar patter of feet and catch a tiny figure standing in the open doorway, dragging that creepyass puppet besides him. Dirk looks at you, then at your cell phone.

“It’s Rose,” you tell him, knowing exactly what he’s asking.

Rose quiets down on the phone, her poor voice practically a whimper. “Is it Dirk?”

“Yeah, he’s in here.” You motion for Dirk to come over, not mad that he isn’t sleeping. You help him up onto your taller bed and hold him in your lap, situating the phone between both or your ears as you explain to Rose, “He can hear you now.”

“Hey, hotshot,” Rose says, not sounding so broken now. “Dave said you aced another test. I’m proud of you, we both are. You taking care of your dumb big brother?”

You catch Dirk smile a little as he nods.

“He nodded,” you explain.

“Good. He’s not as smart as you, you’re basically the parent, little dude,” Rose teases.

You interpret Dirk’s nods to Rose on the phone for a good five minutes. Then you start chatting with Rose, but not about her pregnancy yet. Dirk is still awake and listening. Another ten minutes later the boy passes out, his head on your stomach as his body curls around Lil Cal. You pat his shoulder and whisper his name, but he’s truly out cold.

Then you whisper to Rose, “How did you know?”

“I was late,” she says, knowing immediately what you’re referring to. “Three days. I got two different tests. Both were positive.”

“Who else have you told?”

“Just you,” she replies, and you hear her sad whimper. She takes a deep breath, speaking more calmly. “Just you. They’re going to disown me.”

“They won’t disown you. But we gotta think of all the shitty things that could happen, right? What’s the worst that could happen? They kill you? I can be your Liam Neeson and avenge you hardcore, all right?”

You smile when you hear her giggle.

“For real though,” you say, playing with Dirk’s hair. “What’s your plan?”

“I have a friend who might take me in. The one I’ve got a crush on.”

“The pretty Muslim girl?”

“Yeah.” You can hear the admiration in her voice. “Kanaya. She’s perfect. I’ve been to her place once or twice. Her parents are gems and they love me. I think I should tell her.”

“You should. Listen, Rose. You gotta tell her before your parents, okay? Make sure her parents are cool with you staying there and make sure Kanaya’s got a car ready to come get you immediately if something goes wrong. Can you promise me that, sis?”

“I promise, worrywart. How do you not have an ulcer?”

“I probably have eight, but I can’t afford a doctor.”

“Not funny.”

“I try.”

You know you’re both smiling. You both exchange more words for a while longer, assuring each other that everything will be okay for both of you, no matter how terrifying it all is. You hang up with mocking “I love yous” and then you collapse back, your brother still sleeping on you. You don’t put him back to bed. You just close your eyes and join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by an RP I did with Amnesicartisan. Much love.  
> I update this at least once every week, so I am consistent, but I've also got homework and school and a job, but I hate making people wait forever. So just know that I won't make you wait a month or something.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re name is Dirk Strider. You’re six now, but you’re in the second grade. On the first day of first grade your teacher, Ms. Dallows, called your big brother in. She said that you’d be better off in a “special” classroom. You didn’t like the way she said “special.” You knew what it meant, and the “special” people in your elementary school were the nicest people to you compared to everyone else. 

Dave explained that you were just different. You had sat next to him at the tiny table in the first grade class room, pretending to play on his phone. He was too big for the chairs, looking like a comical giant at a tiny tea party. Ms. Dallows showed Dave your math worksheet. You hadn’t answered the questions, you had drawn silly comics, similar to the funny ones that Dave makes in his notebooks that he still reads to you at night. Dave had explained that your head worked a little differently. 

“He knows all the answers,” he said. Dave was dressed in his work uniform. Not in his Applebee’s one, but the Wal-Mart one. He got a job stocking in the evening and late into the night when he wasn’t serving food in the afternoon. He dropped out of high school a year ago. 

“In his head, he knows them all, so he doesn’t see the point it writing it down when he could be practicing his drawing skills,” Dave continued. 

You pretended to be interested in a Words With Friends game on Dave’s phone. He was playing John, and John had crossed Dave’s “cock” with “soccer” over the second C for a fairly high amount of points. You crossed his R in “soccer” with “ryokans” for three times the points John got. John suddenly texted with “letting dirk play for you is cheating dave.” 

“That’s not a good explanation at all, Mr. Strider,” Ms. Dallows had retorted. 

“No, it is. He’s too smart for this.” He snatched the paper from the table and put it in front of you. “Dirk, show her. Please? I know that you know the answers and you’ve already proven it on a million other sheets, but you have to do it one more time. For me, please?” 

For him, sure. 

You gave him his phone back and picked up your pencil. You answered each question easily and quickly. You only looked at the question, hardly glanced, and then wrote the answer without “showing your work” like Ms. Dallows always asks. Your teacher had stared in surprise, blinking with some type of shock. 

“See?” Dave had said, sliding the paper back over to her. “He knows. Can we go now? I’m going to be late for work.” 

 

 

So you were bumped up into the second grade a few days later. You’ve been in the second grade for six months now, and you’re really bored. You’ve learned multiplication that you already understand, science that you already understand and English grammar that you understand. You don’t like to write, but you know how to. If you liked writing then you would write messages to Dave so that the two of you wouldn’t rely on head nods and facial expressions. 

When you write, you write math. You think about really random situations. What kind of pattern is most efficient for street lights to avoid traffic jams and have the most beneficial travels for drivers? How much money could be saved on this school if they turned off a few of the unnecessary hallway lights? You write down these calculations, especially during English class when you’re supposed to be writing a short story about your favorite food. 

Because it would make Dave happy, you try. You lean extremely close to your paper and squint. 

I LIKE RAMEN. IT IS CHEAP. I MIX IT WITH AN EGG. EGGS ARE FULL OF PROTEIN. PROTEIN IS GOOD FOR ENERGY. IF YOU HAD THREE EGGS A DAY YOU WOULD HAVE 

It stops and you start writing out the math, judging how many calories and how much energy three eggs a day could really give you after a week. You’re almost done when your teacher happily asks everyone to put down their pencils and turn in what they have. You look down at your paper and you’re filled with embarrassment. You look at Stephanie’s paper beside you. She filled at least half of the page with poor grammar about cupcakes. Nonetheless, you get in line to turn in your poor excuse for a food story and leave for recess. 

Because you don’t speak, no one plays with you. There’s a ramp that leads up towards the music rooms outside, the edge lined with railing, and you sit behind the rails every recess to watch the other kids play tetherball. They ignore you and whack the ball back and forth, sometimes the hits making their hands turn red, or the balls giving them good smacks in the face, but you never walk over to join and they never ask you to. Sometimes you bring your Game Boy with, but Dave can’t afford new games and you’re growing a little tired of your horse farm game and your Power Puff Girls one.

Math is the last class of the day, and you always do well in that. The way the classroom works is weird. Even when you understand what’s going on, everyone else is a little behind you, so you have to keep listening and doing the problems over and over again. It gets boring, but it makes Dave happy. 

When school is done, the bell rings and everyone rushes out of the room, completely ignoring the single file line rule. You go to your open locker and stuff your things into your backpack before slinging it on and try not to get pushed by all the yelling and running kids in the hallway. You go out the back doors that lead to the playground rather than the front ones that lead to the buses and cars because Dave always comes to the swing set. Or used to. When he dropped out of school he didn’t have to sit on that swing set to do homework anymore. No, he’s at work now, and the swing set is empty, swaying in the wind. 

So you walk home alone. You have a whistle and pepper spray hanging on the straps of your backpack. You’re smart, but you’re also small. You even have your own phone now. It’s a Trac Phone, and you’re not allowed to call or text on it unless it’s really necessary, otherwise Dave will have to spend more money on it to buy more minutes. 

You unlock the door to the house when you get there. It’s quiet and empty. You walk into the kitchen and get a snack from the almost-empty cabinet. Cheese crackers with peanut butter in the middle. You sit at the kitchen table and do your homework easily before glancing at the clock and doing the math in your head, trying to figure out when Dave might be home. You conclude that he should arrive any second now (hopefully), and then the door opens. 

He’s holding the mail and he looks tired. He always looks tired. You haven’t seen your brother look truly awake and happy since before the accident. Since then he’s had permanent bruises under his eyes, usually hidden by his shades. But since he was working with customers in public he has his brown eye contacts in.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets, flipping through the different envelopes. He makes a heavy sigh, and you know you’ve received a bill. He stands next to you by the table, and you want to show him some of the comics you’ve been drawing, but he’s busy opening the envelope and reading over whatever the bill says. You’re smart, but words like “mortgage” and “tax exemption” confuse you. 

“Shit,” your brother whispers, tossing the bill onto the table. His hand rests on your head, fingers running through your hair briefly as he moves to the drawer where he keeps his checkbook. For now, you watch. He pulls receipts out of his pocket and uses a calculator to add it all up and then writes down his new account balance. Whatever it is, it must not be good, because he crosses his arms on the counter and rests his head on them, and you know he wants to sigh again, but you can see the way he’s letting his breath out slowly so that it’s not loud. 

You slide out of your chair and approach him slowly. He smells like food and sweat. You tug on his untucked shirt until he sniffs and looks down at you and you hold up one of your cracker sandwiches, the peanut butter squishing out the sides. He smiles though, and that makes you feel good. 

“Thanks, dude,” he says, taking it from you. He pops it in his mouth and chews, his hands slipping under your arms to lift you up and set you down on the edge of the counter. You look at his checkbook, but you’re not entirely sure how bad the numbers really are because you’re not aware of what the normal checking account balance should be. 

“Might have to move,” Dave says. He’s tapping the pen repeatedly over the account balance, but he already clicked the pen so that he isn’t leaving a bunch of ink marks behind. He looks up at you with those tired, tired eyes and smiles anyway. “This place is too big. We gotta move someplace small, just for a while. While I save money. Then we can get an ever bigger house, yeah? We could get a bigass pool in the back. Would you like that?” 

You nod. 

“A pool would be better than the beach. No fish poop or seaweed under your toes. Just clean chlorine. We could have pool parties and invite Rose and Kanaya and little Roxy, yeah?”

You nod. 

“So is that okay, little man? A smaller place or a lil’ while?” 

You nod. 

“Good. Thank you.” His hand rests behind your head, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. He helps you down from the counter and pulls out a microwavable meal from the freezer and puts it on the table to thaw out for dinner. Dave eats a single granola bar and announces he’s going to change for his late shift at Wal-Mart. 

He still kind of smells like food and his hair looks washed, but you know he only ran damp fingers through the strands. His contacts are out, his shades on, since he’ll only be stocking rather than smiling at customers. You wonder if he hates smiling at the restaurant. 

You lock the door when he leaves. You play with Legos. At six you heat up the meal he left on the table and eat alone. At six-thirty, Mrs. Kenway knocks on the door and you answer. She asks if everything is going okay and you nod and she asks if you ate dinner and you nod and then she almost pats your head, but you shy away in fear. She politely apologizes and tells you that she’ll check on you again around eight. 

You watch The Little Mermaid on VHS. Mrs. Kenway checks up on you again and you nod to all her questions. You change into your pajamas. You’re a little hungry, but there’s nothing satisfying in the house right now. You wrap yourself up in a blanket on the couch and wait. Mrs. Kenway checks on you at ten. She says it’s getting late and that Dave texted her and said he’d be home soon, and then she gives her usual goodnight speech:

“I’m right next door. Don’t be afraid to come knock if you need anything. Goodnight, sweetie.” 

You give her a single wave, because she’s very nice and she deserves it. She treats you like a fragile baby sometimes, but she’s trying. 

You pass out on the couch.

When you wake up again, it’s because you hear the keys hit the counter. Your eyes open. The TV is still on and it’s only static because the tape is done playing. The clock says it’s half an hour after midnight. The house is dark and quiet except for the stove light that’s on in the kitchen, making such a dull and dreary lighting. You catch Dave’s shades hitting the counter and then hear the sound of the fridge opening. Five seconds later it closes and your brother whispers a curse. 

Dave’s red notebook is on the coffee table. He smiles when he reads to you. 

You grab it and walk to the kitchen, but Dave meets you in the doorway. You’re about to hold up the notebook as a request, but he pushes you aside and scolds, “You gotta turn the damn TV off before you sleep, Dirk. Christ, the electricity isn’t free, okay?” 

You immediately shy away. You understand when Dave snaps, and you’re not mad or afraid. You just figure that if you give him space, he’ll be okay. 

He realizes it after he turns the TV off and stares at you standing quietly in the doorway again. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. He comes to you and crouches down so that he’s not so tall anymore and rather makes you feel like an equal to his level. “Sorry,” he says again. “It was a long night. You know ‘m not mad, kiddo. Still gotta turn the TV off before bed though. Okay? Can you remember that?” 

You nod and step towards him. You want him to know you’re not afraid. He pulls you in and hugs you, and when it’s over his hands cover yours over the notebook. 

“Let me get ready for bed. Then I’ll come to your room and read. Just like always. Okay?” 

You nod. 

Fifteen minutes later, Dave is showered and dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He comes in your room, still the epitome of exhaustion. He sits with you in bed, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as you choose the story you want to hear from his secret notebook full of humor and pictures and journeys. Then he reads them like holy tales until you smile. You make him read until you see him smile, too. 

He kisses your head goodnight and tucks you in and gives you Lil Cal. He turns off the light and leaves the door open as always. You want to listen and make sure he goes to bed all right, but you’re too tired. You’ll never be as tired as Dave, though.

 

 

About two weeks later, John flies down from Washington to visit and also help Dave move since he can only get one day off from work. He hasn’t had a single day off in a long time and it makes you sad that he has to spend that day off packing things and driving back and forth from your house to the new apartment. 

The new apartment is on the other side of town. You visited it not long ago with Dave. It doesn’t have a dishwasher and it only has one extra room, and the kitchen is attached to the living room. It’s not in a bad part of town, but it definitely doesn’t have that homey-safe-neighborhood type of feel to it. The cupboards had cracks and there were stains in the shower and the carpet was an ugly dark green. This neighborhood home is where you grew up and you’re nervous about the move, and even though you don’t talk, Dave can tell. So he keeps telling you it’ll be okay.

You and Dave have to sell a lot of things. While Dave drives stuff to the new apartment, you help John run a garage sale for the weekend. Everything else will be donated. 

Dave sells his turntables. 

He’s unpacking at the new apartment when a young man comes in with his dad and buys the turntables. John looks really unhappy as he takes the cash and helps the two men load the wonderful music-makers up into the back of their truck. It isn’t hard for John to read your expression after. You’re mad. Those used to be Dave’s passion and now this random boy who probably has no idea how to play was going to have them. 

You pout and draw in your lawn chair. You turn your head away as a little girl buys three of your My Little Pony stuffed animals. 

Dave had helped you pick out what gets to stay and what gets to go. He got rid of a lot more than you did, and you know it’s because he wants to keep you happy. You get to keep your building kits and your Legos and your horse barn and only four of your favorite fifteen horses. You get to keep your Game Boy since Dave will probably never be able to afford you a new Nintendo DS. You’re playing it now in your lawn chair, and you know you should help John like Dave told you to, but you’re unhappy to see Dave’s stuff go and you’re unhappy to see your stuff go. A mother buys some of your clothes that you grew out of and a girl comes through and buys some of Dave’s band shirts. 

“What are you playing?” John asks. 

You don’t look away from the screen. You lift the Game Boy, showing the pixels of Link who’s on a mission to save Zelda, per the usual. 

“Do you want me to make lunch? You can deal with the money, right?” 

You nod and pause your game. John doesn’t treat you like you’re a stupid child. You’ve seen him in enough Skype chats, and Dave has talked about you enough. John knows you’re different. “In a good way” Dave always says. 

John goes inside the house and you rest your head on the little table you have set up. You mess with the latch on the safe that holds all the money you’ve made so far. A man comes through, holding a pair of Dave’s headphones. You glare at him, but pretend it’s the bright sun in your eyes. Because they’re an expensive brand, Dave is selling the headphones for twelve dollars, and you hold your hand out, waiting. 

“Your dad around?” the man asks. 

You hold your hand out, still waiting. 

“Can you get your mom for me?”

You sigh heavily. You hold up one finger, then two. Twelve dollars. Hurry the hell up, dude. 

He sighs back at you and fishes through his wallet. He gives you a ten and a five. 

“Do you know how change works?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes and open the safe. You put his money in, and he’s asking for your mom again, and you frown as you practically rip his three ones in change from the safe. You hold it out, still frowning. He takes it slowly and thanks you and leaves. 

A girl your age buys your MLP trading cards for fifty cents. You let her, taking the two quarters she got from her mom, and put it in the safe. Then you slip off of the lawn chair and rush inside, the screen door that leads to the garage slamming behind you. In the kitchen, John is finishing up making mac n’ cheese. 

“Hey, what’s up man?” he asks, easily able to read how annoyed you look. 

You don’t want to cry. You never cry. But there’s a sting in your eyes. You clench your fists at your sides and then hug yourself and then put your hands in your pockets and then hug yourself again. You’re so uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” John says more softly, but you can tell he’s worried, because he doesn’t understand how to deal with your differentness. He kneels down, almost holding your shoulders, but pulls back when you start staring at his hands with a glare. 

“Do you wanna stay inside?” he tries. 

You nod, almost angrily. 

“Okay. I’ll put your lunch on the table. I’ll be in the garage if you need anything. Okay?” 

If Dave were here, you wouldn’t have to nod. But John doesn’t know you as well, so you nod again. He nods back and stands up, putting your bowl of mac n’ cheese on the table. You don’t move until John leaves with his own bowl to go outside. Then you sit at the table and eat. You only eat half of it. You’re too upset to really fill your stomach.

You probably haven’t truly cried since you were a baby and didn’t know any better. Right now, your eyes still sting. You look at the boxes that Dave hasn’t taken to the new apartment yet and you consider unpacking them and putting everything back so you can convince Dave to stop and stay here. 

But you know he doesn’t have the money. 

Twenty minutes later, the door squeaks open and you hear shoes walk across the linoleum floor, coming towards you. Dave crouches next to you at the table, his eyes on your unfinished lunch and then looking at your watering eyes. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “John says you got upset for some reason. What’s up, kiddo?” 

You glare at the mac n’ cheese, even though the dairy-drizzled noodles have nothing to do with your current situation. 

“Was there someone mean at the garage sale?” he asks. 

You don’t even shake your head no. You keep staring into your lunch. 

He keeps asking questions. You don’t respond at all. He leans in closer, and his hand rubs your back, and you think you hear his voice change. A crack, a plead, something. He’s desperate to help you, but you can’t speak. You don’t know why. You hate it too. 

“Is it the move? Is this… Is this all really scary?” he asks eventually. 

You don’t nod, but you glance towards his face and back down. He knows what you’re trying to say. 

“I’m scared too,” he says in a whisper. His thumb is rubbing against your hair where his hand is rested. “Just a little,” he adds. “I know what I’m doing, though. This move is good. We’ll have more money since I won’t have such a big house to pay for. And I know a lot of our stuff is gone, but we have important things still. I still have my camera, right? My mixer? And you have all your fun building supplies and your little barn. We have all our notebooks for drawing. We have each other, right?” 

This time, you nod. Just once, slowly.

“See? We’re going to be fine. If you get too scared or worried at the new place, you come to me. I’ll distract you. We’re going to be just fine, okay?”

You sniffle, but you nod. You trust Dave.

“Good.” He kisses your head and stands up again. He looks around the kitchen where the last of the boxes are. “I’ve got one more trip left. If you’re not hungry, can you go help John again? Please, kiddo?” 

You take one more bite of your mac n’ cheese to try and at least make Dave a little happier. Then you even put the bowl and spoon in the sink like a good boy before you attempt to pick up one of the boxes in the living room, struggling because of its weight, but succeeding nonetheless. It makes Dave smile as he picks up two boxes on each hip and follows you outside to the car to put the things in the trunk and in the back seat. He can’t afford a U-Haul to cut down on the drives back and forth, but the apartment isn’t far. Dave was worried about wasting gas driving you to school or driving to work, so your new home is only about two miles away.

Dave runs a hand through your hair and tells you to be good before he gets in the car and makes yet another trip to the apartment. You watch him disappear down the street, a new car taking his place where two old ladies get out to come buy your things. 

 

 

In the new apartment, the spare room is yours. Dave sleeps in the living room on the futon. But the rent is cheap and the money from the garage sale is going to help him for quite a while. John stays a few more days, babysitting you while Dave is forced to continue going to work, even when there are still boxes to unpack. 

It’s a Monday morning when you wake up and realize you have school. John is taking you to school while Dave goes to work and then John is flying home around noon. You can hear Dave walking around in the kitchen, probably making you breakfast, and John is talking to him quietly. You look around your new room with this numb sensation in your chest and in your head. You have your dresser, filled with necessary clothes. You have your toys in a single bin, pressed in the corner. You have your twin sized bed with your orange blanket and Lil Cal is hanging over the edge, having been pushed over from your movements when you sleep. 

“It’s not a lot,” you hear John say. 

“No,” your brother says. 

“Come on. I made, like, a hundred in tips at the comedy club a week ago. I told you I’m a weekly act there, right? Apparently I’m just fucking hilarious. And you always told me I was a dull act. Ha!” 

You don’t hear Dave reply, but you can assume he’s smiling or probably giving John the finger, because John laughs after. 

Then John continues, “Please, Dave. Like, I’m not even messing around anymore.”

“Shut up, Egbert.”

“You’re really going to let your pride control you right now? When you’re living in a place like this? It isn’t pity money, it’s help-your-fucking-child money.” 

Dave doesn’t reply. You don’t think he’s smiling this time. You slip out of bed and change into jeans and a hoodie. You grab your backpack, but you pause at the door, still listening. 

“If you don’t take this to help Dirk because of your dumb Strider pride, then you’re being a really shit parent, Dave.” 

“I’m not a parent!” Dave erupts, and you step away from the door. “I’m a stupid, fucking kid! My parents were parents and they’re dead and I’m not and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and I’m just trying, John. I’m trying, and my life is shit, it’s ruined.” 

Your numbness is very painful now. You open the door and step out. John is sitting on the futon and Dave is making you pop tarts in the kitchen while news plays on your single TV. John looks at you with wide eyes and Dave just looks startled. 

“Dirk,” your brother says. He acts like he didn’t just yell like he did and continues, “You okay?” 

You put your backpack down and go into your mode where you block the world out. Usually you can nod to Dave and respond to his words, but you’re blocking yourself out. You go to the kitchen and take your plate of pop tarts from him and sit at the table to eat and stare at the wall. Dave comes to your side, and before he speaks he tries to touch your back, but you grunt and lean away. 

You’ve ruined his life. 

One time your social worker Gladys came to visit and she offered in a hushed tone to Dave that she found a good foster family for you if he wanted that. Dave had gotten so mad that she would even propose that idea and asked her politely, but harshly, to leave the house. He would never give you away to some random family, no matter how much money they had. Family stuck together. 

But now, you’ve ruined his life. 

“Dirk,” he pleads softly. “Buddy, look at me. You know I don’t mean to yell.” 

You eat your pop tart. Everything else is blocked. 

“Dirk…? I have to go to work. We can talk tonight when I get home, okay? Or, I’ll talk. We can read and watch a movie?” 

Blocked. 

Dave sighs and tries to pet at your hair but you grunt at him again. He sighs and gets up to grab his keys and finish buttoning his uniform. You can hear him saying goodbye to John behind you. They hug and Dave says sorry for yelling and you think he takes the money from John. Then they hug again and it’s quiet for a while before Dave thanks his friend for all his help this weekend.

Then the door is closed and Dave is gone. 

You finish eating and put all your schoolwork in your backpack and then brush your teeth. John waits for you by the door and he makes sure you’ve got your key before he locks the door and you both walk out of the apartment building and head out to his rental car. 

The ride is quiet because John knows how you are. But he speaks anyway. 

“Dave is just tired. Kind of frustrated. He’s only worried about you, he’s not mad at you.” 

You look out the window. 

“I had fun at the garage sale with you this weekend,” John says. “You’ve gotten so big. It was super nice to hang out with you.” 

You tell him you agree by glancing towards him once. He understands enough to smile. He pulls to a stop in front of your school and asks if he’s allowed to get a hug goodbye. You don’t want to, but John is really nice to you and he deserves it, so you hug him very quickly. Arms wrapped around his neck, a squeeze, and then you pull back. 

John calls out a goodbye and you wish you could be nice enough to wave goodbye. You just go inside and remember you didn’t take your medication this morning. John probably doesn’t know about it and Dave was pretty stressed out, so now you’re jittery and nervous from all the children running around and screaming and laughing. You flinch when they run into you, rubbing the spot they touched as if it’s burned. 

You can’t tell a teacher that you need Dave to bring you your medicine. Even if you could, you don’t want to pull Dave out of work. 

You don’t do your work that day. You stare at your papers and doodle over the problems. During English you’re supposed to practice working commas into your sentences. You draw on the paper though, sketching out a grumpy looking Sweet Bro while Hella Jeff is being an idiot. The teacher tries to get you to look at her and listen to her so she can explain what you’re supposed to be doing, but you’ve blocked her out. 

You’re excused to recess. You have Dave’s notebook in your backpack and you bring that outside, sitting down in your spot behind the railing to read the comics and stories so that you can sink deeper into your own little world.

Sometimes students bother you. You hear them talk about you. Hell, you’ve heard teachers gossip about you. Some talk about you with pride, honored that they got to teach a prodigy, and others talk about you in shame, discussing how difficult and “stuck up” you can be. Students think you’re dumb because you don’t speak, and some think you’re a show off because you can always do the assignments right, and better than them. 

Today, the boys bother you. You think his name is Caliborn or something stupid like that. He says it’s an “exotic” name, even though he’s whiter than snow and grew up in Texas with Rebuplican parents. He has his fourth grade posse with him, two other boys with buzz cuts and designer outfits. Your outfit came from Goodwill. 

“What’cha reading?” he asks. 

You flip the page of the notebook. Hella Jeff is throwing a “rad partee.”

Caliborn leans on the railing, gazing down at you. You’re sitting, back pressed to the building wall. You hope he goes away. You’re blocking him out anyway. Usually the other kids don’t bother you because you’re so good at blocking the world out, but sometimes you hear what they say too, and sometimes the words stick in your head.

“He’s such a know-it-all,” one of the posse members says. 

“My dad says he’s retarded,” Caliborn says. 

You’re blocking them out, but your eyes narrow at the page. 

“He’s just pretending to be smart,” the bald boy continues. “But he’s actually a retard, and everyone felt sorry for him, so they let him skip a grade instead of putting him in the dumb kid class. Just a big pity party. His parents probably killed themselves on purpose.” 

You glare at the page. You’re not mad at the book, though. Block them out, block them out, block them out. 

“Have you seen his backpack?” a boy laughs. “He likes My Little Pony like a girl.” 

“He’s a fag too,” Caliborn says. 

He’s going to say something else, but you’ve leapt. You are not in your world anymore. You grab his shirt and yank him forward until his forehead smacks into the bars of the railing. Then you wail on him. You hit him again and again and again, and Caliborn is yelling and hitting you back, and then his two friends are climbing the railing to grab you and jerk you off of him, throwing you back into the wall. 

The teacher that had recess duty has seen everything. The tetherball players are all frozen and watching. You’re released when they see the teachers coming and you fall to your hands and knees, your chest sore from Caliborn’s fists, and he has your pulled hair stuck between his fingers. His face is going to bruise from your hits, too. Good. 

 

 

Your face and head hurts. They called Dave out of work. You’re sitting on a cushioned chair in the principal’s office. You and Caliborn have both been suspended for two days. Caliborn told his side of the story. He was talking to you, just chatting like a good little boy does, and out of nowhere you attacked him! You can’t share your side of the story though, because you can’t speak and you hate it so, so much. Your eyes are tearing, but you don’t cry. 

Dave finishes talking to the principal, and Caliborn’s dad tries to make you apologize, but Dave explains over and over again that you’re mute and you made a stupid mistake and that you’re very, very sorry, you’re just “special.” Sometimes using that word is the only way to make people understand. 

The scary man and his stupid son leave. Dave is still in his uniform and he looks very tired. He turns to face you and holds his hand out, but he doesn’t look happy. 

You keep ruining his life. 

You put your backpack on and hold his hand, even when you’re so sad and guilty. The principal is done scolding Dave—“If this happens again, I’m not afraid of expulsion!”—so you’re both able to leave and go home now. Dave is very silent on the way out of the building, taking you out to the car so you can climb in and hug your backpack in your lap and stare out the window with tears in your eyes that you still refuse to shed. 

Dave has his shades on since he was stocking this morning, but you can see the bags under his eyes still. He runs a hand back through his hair, blinking tiredly as he drives home. Not the real home, but your new, smaller home. You want to tell him you’re sorry, but your brain won’t let you. Everything is so frustrating. 

Then Dave speaks softly: 

“Did he deserve it?” 

You hesitate. Then you nod. 

Dave smirks. He reaches over, ruffling and petting your hair a bit. “He looked like a little brat, didn’t he? Who shaves their kid’s head? Ick.” He shudders as if revolted. 

You maybe smile. Just a little. 

When you get home, Dave helps take care of you. He parts your hair to see if your scalp is okay from having your hair yanked out. Then he checks your cheek that is going to bruise, along with your chest that is only a little red and sore, but it probably won’t bruise or swell up. Dave mutters that you put up a good fight, but don’t do it again, and you nod. Then he changes out of his work clothes and puts on something casual to join you on the futon and help you with homework. And by help he means just watch as you do all the work. 

When your work is done and you put your papers away, Dave tells you to come over. He picks you up and puts you next to him on the futon, but he turns to face you. 

“I regret nothing,” he says softly. 

You stare at your hands. 

“Making money is frustrating, but it’s okay. And I mean that. I will never let anyone take you away from me and I will never give you away. I never have and never will hate my life. You are my life, Dirk. And I regret nothing.” 

Your knuckles are a little red from punching Caliborn. 

“May I hug you, Dirk?” 

You nod. 

He gathers you into his lap, holding you close. You stop trying to block things and let him in, your arms circling his neck and your head pressing against him under his jaw. He rubs your back and sighs into your hair, and you think you feel him shake a little. You wish you could give him all the money in the world and buy his turntables back and let him know how much he means to you. You wish you could apologize for how difficult you are. 

His hands fall away, but you don’t let go. So Dave keeps holding you. 

Later on Dave plays Scrabble with you (you win) and then you play chess after (you win again). Then he makes you show him how you hit Caliborn and he laughs as you punch at the air and reenact everything. Then he has to go to work, and you let him kiss your head. He goes through the speech. Numbers are on the counter, he’s only a call away, lock the door behind him, etc. You don’t have a neighbor to keep an eye on you anymore because you’re too grown up and Dave doesn’t know anyone over here. He trusts you and you trust yourself in this case. 

He leaves in his black Applebee’s uniform and exits the apartment. You lock the door behind him and decide to watch a movie. This is your first time being truly alone in the apartment. You really hate it. 

 

 

It’s your seventh birthday and you’re happy. Truly happy. You’ve been living in the new apartment for six months now. During the summer, Dave worked a lot. He’s made a new friend named Karkat at work and they get along well, and when Dave is gone for thirteen hours a day, Karkat comes over to keep an eye on you. 

Dollar Tree becomes your home away from home. When everything is one dollar, Dave’s paychecks aren’t so gloomy. You get your shampoo and soap and almost all your food there. You get your school supplies there and cleaning supplies. Every once in a while, like when Christmas came around the last few years, Dave would get a Christmas bonus and he’d spend it all on presents for you. Christmas is one of the few days he gets off during the year and you love that you can spend the entire day with him. Christmas is coming up, too. 

Today, Dave has to work. But only the morning shift. Three in the morning to ten in the morning. So by the time you’re waking up and rubbing your eyes and looking for breakfast, he comes in the door looking exhausted. Always exhausted. Nonetheless, he smiles and rushes over to you, scooping you up into his arms. 

“Haaaaaappy Birthday, big boy!” he cries, spinning you around. 

You can’t laugh, but some sort of breathy chuckle comes out of you while you grin. 

It’s Dave’s birthday, too. Ironically, you decided to pop out of your mother the same date your brother did, so you get to share today together. You have no money, you’re only six (wait, seven now), so you could only use your hands to make a present. 

Dave sets you down and you put a finger up, telling him to wait. Then you rush to your bedroom and fall to your stomach so you can crawl under your bed and reach out to grab the gift you’ve made. It’s a clay bowl you made in your art class when you had a pottery unit. Everyone else made vases and cups, but you made the small plate as a key bowl, or a bowl for change, or a place to set wallets. 

Dave is really forgetful. Big time. Sometimes you and him would hang out on the futon to watch TV and suddenly he’s jump up yelling, “Shit, I’ve got work!” and he’d change and rush off, going through his speech too quickly for you to understand, but you have it memorized. He loses his keys almost every time he has to go to work and he’s always patting down his clothes to find his wallet. He leaves them in the bathroom and on the floor and in different pants pockets.

You glazed the bowl red, but you painted Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff in the middle. Your art teacher thought you were a shitty artist, but that’s just Dave’s awesome and ironic style. 

You go back out to the kitchen where Dave is waiting. He has something behind his back and he’s grinning. Your key bowl is behind your back too, and you grin right back at him as if your presents are the most silly and secret things ever. 

“On three?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“One. Two…” 

You mouth the word three for him, as if you’re saying it with him. 

You hold out your shitty bowl that has a sad bow on the top and Dave holds out a pair of pointed shades from one of the many animes you watch, an equally sad white bow on it. 

Your eyes widen and you smile bigger than you ever have before. But you’re more focused on Dave’s smile. He smiles and laughs happily as he takes the bowl, and then he’s laughing even harder, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“You’re fucking hilarious,” he says happily. “I love it, holy shit. You know I’m still going to forget my shit everywhere, but maybe a little less now.” 

When you get assurance that he loves his present, you grab the shades. You pluck the bow off and slip them on your face, still grinning. It must have been expensive, but you love them so much that you can’t be mad at Dave for wasting money, because holy shit, these are the greatest things ever. Dave has worst albinism than you, but sometimes the sunlight hurts you too on those really sunny days, and now you can look super cool, just like Dave. 

You pose for Dave and he keeps on laughing, ruffling up your hair. 

“Hot damn! You’re looking cool as shit, lil’ man. How about we go show those shades off, huh? You want to take a trip to the store? You can get any five items you want. We’ll go crazy and party at the friggin Dollar Tree, how’s that sound?” 

You nod excitedly. You look at your reflection in his aviators and damn do you look cool. 

The walk to the Dollar Tree feels very short since you’re jumping happily the whole time, holding onto Dave’s hand and practically skipping while Dave does all the talking. He rants about how work went well and he rants that you two are going to spend the rest of the day together, just you two. He says maybe if he has enough change he can get a small piece of cake since that’s all you can get for a dollar at the Dollar Tree. 

Bri is working today. She waves and you wave back and Dave loudly announces that it’s your brithdays today. 

Dave picks you up and you get to sit up high on his shoulders. You rest your hands on his hair, looking at everything in a more comfortable and dimmer light through your new shades. You go through the toy aisle and you and Dave put on funny dinosaur hats. Dave pretends to be a T-Rex, roaring and pulling his arms in close to his sides to imitate the tiny claws while you make your breathy laugh and run from him. An employee give you both a look though and you decide to quiet down and behave. 

You pick out a new horse toy, a small brown one with a black mane that you’re going to add to your barn. You also go to the hardware aisle and pick out a pair of pliers, some wires, and screws for all your building supplies. You’re allowed to get two more items, so you walk back to the freezer section with Dave following you. 

It’s both of your birthdays. It shouldn’t just be stuff for you. 

You pick out two meals. You get chicken chow mein for you and teriyaki chow mein for Dave. 

“No,” he says, but he tries to be polite and smile. “Get something for yourself. You want some candy? An orange soda?” 

You hold the two meals close to your chest though. Dave sighs, but he plays with your hair a bit before he ushers you towards the register so that nothing else cool catches your eye, otherwise you know Dave will feel guilty and buy it anyway. 

Bri wishes you both a very happy birthday as she scans your items. She used to comment on your oddities. The hardware items you got, or your muteness. She’s used to you now. She treats you like an adult most of the time, and you like that. When she tells you that she loves your new shades, you beam.

Dave carries you on your shoulders the whole way home. The bag hangs on his elbow as he lifts his hands, letting you hold his thumbs and pretend they’re joysticks. When you jerk them left, he moves left, and when you push forward he starts running. You keep laughing, and at one point you think you might hear your voice? Otherwise it’s just air. 

When you get home, Dave eyes a fancy car in the apartment building’s parking lot. He opens the door to your apartment, but it’s already unlocked. He looks wary, putting you down on the ground and pressing a hand to your chest with a quiet “stay back.” 

He walks in and you’re scared. 

Instead, you’re both greeted with a surprise party. Dave flinches and you flinch, but you’re about to cry too because you didn’t take your medication today and you’re terrified. 

Rose is here though. Rose is here, and so is Kanaya, and so is little Roxy. Even John is here. There’s a birthday banner hung up on the wall and there’s balloons and you see a cake back in the kitchen. You don’t shed tears, but the moisture in your eyes are out of happiness. 

Dave covers his mouth and goes to Rose who’s the closest. He puts his head on her shoulder and clutches her so, so tightly. You think he might be crying a little. You follow in after him and spot John first and you rush over to give him a hug. Suddenly you’re not so afraid of everyone. 

You rush over to Kanaya after, even though you’ve never met her face-to-face, only on Skype calls. She’s very pretty with dark skin and jade colored eyes. You can’t tell her that you think she’s really pretty, but you circle your hands around her hijab and cup her cheeks after. She beams at you and kisses your cheek and you don’t cringe or wipe it. 

The whole day goes amazingly well. You show Roxy, who is four now, all your new toys. You play in the living room with her and she does all the talking for the both of you. She creates back stories for all your horses and creates the voices for them and you just have to make them move around. You take her to your room and show her your little robot creations. Nothing impressive, just some moveable arms, maybe a self-turning head. 

Then she gives you pointers. She points to joints that you could change, or where you can stick a screw to hold it all together more. You stare at her a little surprised and wonder if she’s a genius too. At least she seems mentally healthy enough to handle it. 

All the adults call you two into the kitchen. Roxy holds your hand and you’re incredibly comfortable with it. 

“There’s the birthday boy,” Rose greets. She helps you into your seat and then she sits across from you, Roxy in her lap. She holds her daughter close, her mouth and nose pressed against Roxy’s hair and you love that Rose loves her so much. A few years ago when Rose was pregnant you and Dave were both scared for her and didn’t want her to view her child as a burden since Rose had decided not to get an abortion. 

She hadn’t been disowned, but she was told to move out. She was eighteen by then though, and so was Kanaya, so they had moved in together. Kanaya’s parents had paid for their first year with the baby. Diapers, bottles, formula, everything. Now Rose was writing a new book and Kanaya was on her way to starting her own fashion line and Roxy was the most important thing in the world to both of them. 

John has gotten a permanent job at a club doing stand-up comedy and was doing extremely well on his own. He sat next to you at the table, cracking jokes with Dave. Dave hadn’t been this happy since before the accident, and that alone made you just as happy. 

Rose and Kanaya announce they’re engaged and the whole table erupts in cheers and yelling and hugs. You don’t make a noise, but you’re happy and you hug Rose who kisses your forehead and leaves behind a black kiss mark. Then you and Dave blow out candles on the cake they brought and everyone chats and gossips and hugs and laughs while you eat your sweets and grin at everyone’s jokes, even if you can’t make your own.

When everyone moves to the living room, you sit on Dave’s lap. His thumb rubs your back and his shades are off, and you want to be cool like him, so you take yours off too. John is doing one of his skits from his show and Dave is messing with your hair. Roxy interrupts John, yelling that she’s hungry again and Dave laughs and Kanaya scoops her up, taking her back to the kitchen. You look up at your brother. 

He looks back at you and his smile isn’t huge, but it’s real and so genuine. He runs a hand through your hair and then puts his focus on John again and so do you. His thumb rubs over the scar on your forehead from the car crash. 

You both have just agreed that this is the best day of your lives. 

 

 

You have your first nightmare ever.

You’re in the car and Mom is yelling at Dad. You have excellent memory. She was yelling at him for spending too much money. He yelled at her back, accusing her of cheating on him with one of her employees. You had taken your pills that day, but you didn’t like the screaming. 

Your eyes watered and you covered your ears, looking out the window. You don’t like leaving the house with your parents. They show you off. “Look at our son! So cute! He’s ours!” Then they fight. They always fight. You don’t like when it’s in front of you, especially in a small car where you feel trapped. You grunted, but they didn’t listen. 

Colors were passing the window. It was dark out and the street lamps were on and stop lights were showing up ahead. Your parents were still screaming. 

You wanted Dave. You wanted Dave to talk to you in his calm voice and grin and call you kiddo and understand you. Dave always understood you. 

You saw the red light. You felt the car speeding. They were screaming. You saw the van passing. You would have screamed if you had a voice. Maybe you did scream. It was chaos by then. 

The collision was terrifying. Twisting and screeching and flying glass. The pain in your forehead when your neck whiplashed your face towards the window. Everything was so loud. It was terrifying, truly terrifying, pure fear, this was all their fault, all their fault, you wanted Dave—

 

 

“DAVE!”

“Dirk, I’m here!” 

“DAVE!”

“I’m here. I’m here. Oh my god. I’m here.” 

You’re hyperventilating. Your throat hurts, why does it feel so raw? 

Dave is clutching you. He’s on your bed with you and you’re pressed to his chest, but he’s not holding you too tightly, that way you can still breathe. You’re not in the car. The car is in a junkyard. They’re dead and you’re alive. Dave is here. 

“Dave!” 

“I’m here.” His voice is lower now. “I’m here. It’s me.” 

“Dave.” 

“It’s me, Dirk. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re okay… Oh my god.” His lips press against your head. He’s holding you so close. Then he chuckles, just softly, briefly. “Oh my god,” he says again. 

“Dave…” 

He cradles your head to his chest, thumb on your scar. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “Yeah, that’s me. That’s me… You sound wonderful, Dirk. I’m here.” 

He falls asleep with you in your bed that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have any questions for me or about any of my stories, you can ask me anything on my tumblr, plajus.tumblr.com c: I announce updates there too~ Hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! You're all the best.


	3. Chapter 3

You’re Dave Strider and you’re raising a high schooler. In no way is your little brother a teenager, though. He’s only eleven, but after taking a few tests he was boosted into the ninth grade and he seems to be getting along better than he did in middle school or elementary school. He hasn’t attacked anymore ignorant kids, but if anyone is bullying him then he hasn’t told you. 

He speaks now. Not much, but he does. Ever since that nightmare when he woke up screaming, Dirk has learned to voice his thoughts on occasion, when he finds it necessary, or when he’s comfortable. He started with a word a day and by now he can have little conversations. If he talks for too long he begins to stutter and fidget and turn red, so you never pressure him to say more than you need to. Honestly, you’re just so happy you can hear him. 

Right now, Dirk should be sleeping. It’s three in the morning, but you’re at your stocking job. Your hours are being cut back, so you tried to beg for more hours at your restaurant job, but your manager couldn’t afford to cut back anyone else’s hours. You’re tight on money, but you’re doing your best and scraping by. The cheaper apartment makes things easier, but Dirk is growing and needs more food and he needs a lot of stuff for his advanced classes.

You’re sitting on a cart of boxes. Wal-Mart is in a dim lighting and it’s extremely quiet besides the squeaking of the cart as Karkat pushes it. He’s a crabby and pissy guy, but he’s also got a very deep side and you can tell he listens and cares when you rant about your brother or your life in general. When all your best friends are so far away from Texas it’s nice to have someone here to listen to you. 

“What about college?” Karkat asks. 

Of course the topic for tonight (or morning you suppose) is money. 

“God, I don’t know,” you admit. “I really don’t. We can always live off of loans, but when it comes time to pay those off… I don’t want to put that all on Dirk.” 

Karkat shrugs and keeps pushing the cart. You should really help him, but you’re on top of the boxes for the free ride, and after you whined and feigned tears at Karkat he stopped yelling about how lazy you were. Besides, you were the opposite of lazy. 

“Kidneys go for a lot,” Karkat says after a while. 

“Dude,” you reply in surprise. “Dude. You’re right. Man, I only need one kidney, and I’m pretty healthy in general. I could use to eat more, but still. Man, I could maybe pay for one whole semester if I give up a kidney.” 

“Dumbass, I was joking.” 

“Oh, and blood too. I’m O-negative, that’s like, super rare. Right? I could sell a bunch of blood and a kidney. How much of a liver is really necessary, Vantas? Or my liver? Can I survive with half a liver? Man, I should have started growing my hair out years ago, I could sell it to bald people. God knows I’m never going to have sex with the way I’m living. I could donate my penis to some poor guy who actually needs it. Original tissue and all.”

“Please shut up.”

“Know anyone looking for a working penis, Vantas? It has little use, too. I’m so busy with Dirk and work I can’t even find fifteen minutes to jerk off. You know, maybe that’s what I need. A good hour dedicated to some masturbation.” 

“I just lost five IQ points.”

“A mastur-day. That’s what I need.”

Karkat chucks a box of toilet paper at you. You fall back off of the pile of boxes, back hitting the floor with a grunt. You smile, though. You’re exhausted and your muscles are sore from all the work you do, but it’s easier when you’re around people you like. People like Karkat and Dirk, or when your friends call. You think you catch Karkat smiling too as he rips open a box and starts to stock paper towel and you start to put the toilet paper up on its self. 

“Scholarships,” Karkat says.

“Hm?”

“Dirk’s a prodigy, yeah? Little genius. That shit is bound to get a scholarship, whether it’s in robotics, math or even art. He knows too much about everything. Colleges will be leaping at the chance to have him. They’ll be ripping each other apart and screeching like hungry predators wanting to get at him.” 

You pause and then start to nod as you continue stocking. “You’re right.”

“I know.” 

 

 

When you get home, it’s about seven in the morning. You’re exhausted (what’s new?) and hungry (too bad, you’re saving food for Dirk). You kick your shoes off and toss your keys and wallet into the key bowl that still sits on the counter, just like it’s been sitting for four years now. 

Dirk is sitting at the table, his leg jumping underneath as he writes in a notebook. His hair is growing out in a mess, but Dirk always just pushes it backwards into these soft spikes that are slowly starting to stay and become permanent. There’s a bowl of off-brand cereal next to him, soggy and untouched now. 

“Hey, kiddo,” you greet. “Heading to school soon?” 

He nods and then pushes the cereal towards you without looking. You gaze down at it, at the soggy and swollen pieces that are probably full of sugar and corn syrup, and then look at Dirk again. 

“I don’t know if I can eat this,” you say.

Dirk looks away from his notebook and glances at the gross cereal and frowns. “Sorry,” he says, taking the bowl and going to the sink to pour it. You figure you shouldn’t scold him for wasting food, he already knows and he’s probably ashamed and he’s already said his sorry. 

“It’s all good,” you reply, unbuttoning your uniform. “Karkat brought donuts to work, so I’m actually pretty stuffed.” 

You’re a shitty liar. 

Dirk just nods and goes back to the table and keeps scribbling. You take off your shirt, the T-shirt underneath feeling gross with sweat from all the heavy boxes you had to lift. You stand behind your little brother, glancing down at the page. It’s a bunch of numbers and letters and symbols you don’t understand, but it astonishes you anyway. You never stop being impressed by your little brother’s big brain. 

“What’re you workin’ on here?” you ask. 

“Codes,” he says. “I wanna make and AI.”

“AI?”

“Artificial Intelligence. Like Cleverbot. But better.”

“Better be better. Cleverbot is shit and only useful for middle schoolers to cyber-sex with.”

You catch Dirk smirking at his notebook. Then he glances towards the clock and starts to grab all his things and shove them in his backpack for school. 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He nods. “Egg.”

“Good.”

“You gonna eat?” 

“Donuts.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head. You frown. He’s too smart for you. He deserves so much better. Even if he’s eleven and getting tall, you pull him into your side and kiss his head before he leaves. He grunts like a growing eleven-year-old should, pretending not to like it, but he doesn’t fight you. 

“Have a good day,” you call behind him. He waves and the door closes. 

Then you’re silent. You look through your wallet, at the sad four dollars inside, and then look around the tiny apartment. Your clothes are shoved under the futon since it’s basically your room, but at least it’s not all spread out across the floor. 

You go into Dirk’s room and pick up all his clothes in the hamper you got for a dollar at Dollar Tree. You put your clothes in it too and walk a block down to the laundromat. You pull out the quarters you requested in place of your ones the last time you went shopping specifically for this. You miss when your washer and dryer were just one floor below, right in the house. 

There’s a really pretty girl there with short hair and golden eyes that remind you of Dirk’s eyes. She smiles at you and sits near you while your clothes are washing. You can tell she’s flirting, especially when she drops the “your girlfriend must be proud/lucky/happy/etc” line. You say you don’t have one, and she beams, but you’re just being honest. 

You haven’t had a romantic partner in seven years now. Not since you started raising Dirk on your own. Sure, you get lonely and really crave for it sometimes, but you don’t need it to survive. Although you stopped having so many sex dreams. You started having dumb date dreams. You have dreams about going to a fancy restaurant and holding someone’s hand under the table. You don’t know who they are. You can never see their face and their outfit is so many outfits and their voice is so many different voices, but you do cheesy romantic things with them. You dream about this unknown partner leaning into your arms and breathing on our neck. You have dreams about telling them it’s okay and spooning in bed, feeling a body pressed flush into your own form. 

You blink. The cute girl is asking you if you’re busy this Friday. 

“I’m a single parent, so I’ll be with my kid Friday night since I hardly see him all week from my two jobs,” you say. 

She’s still smiling and polite, but you can tell she’s not going to try asking you out or even request a phone number. You give respecting goodbyes and you take the laundry home to fold and put away under your bed and in Dirk’s dresser, exactly where everything needs to be, because he’s the kind of kid that will completely ruin organized shit into a huge mess. But in his head, it’s all where it needs to be. 

You’ll be working until midnight tonight, so you sleep after a very short shower to save on the water bill. Your stomach aches from hunger, having skipped breakfast and lunch. But you pass out and sleep as if you haven’t felt a bed in weeks. When you wake up you’re almost sick with hunger, but it’s dark out and the clock says it’s around five and you smell something really good coming from the nearby kitchen. 

You sit up and rub your eyes, your muscles telling you to go back to sleep. Dirk is pouring something into a bowl from a pot, his shades sitting on the counter.

“Hey,” you say hoarsely and clear your throat after to try and wake up. 

Dirk doesn’t speak but he nods towards you. You stand and drag yourself over to see what he’s doing and you find two bowls full of spaghetti, complete with noodles, sauce and meatballs. Even meatballs. 

“I didn’t buy this stuff,” you say. 

“I bet some guys five bucks on the bus I could lick my elbow and I did,” Dirk says softly. “I was hungry and the bus stop is near the dollar store.” 

You want to be mad and tell him it’s your job to provide the money and food, but… it is his money. Dirk looks at things logically, and if he had money and he was hungry and he feels like sharing then you don’t really have an argument against him. He’ll win any argument when he starts talking like a professor (at least until he stutters and can’t speak at all). 

“Thanks,” you say softly instead of what you really want to say. You sit at the table that’s too small, but it’s all you can fit in the small kitchen. Dirk fills two glasses with water and joins you and you eat a really good meal. Really good. You can’t remember the last time you actually ate out at a real restaurant (maybe Dirk’s ninth birthday? It was Old Country Buffet for breakfast) so this is honestly the greatest thing you’ve tasted in a long time. 

Halfway through the meal, Dirk finds confidence to speak again. 

“There’s a science fair coming up,” he says, speaking towards the meatball he’s holding up on his fork.

“You enter it?”

“No. My bio teacher entered me. Without my permission.” 

“You don’t gotta do it. I know you’d win though.” 

Dirk shrugs and eats the meatball. Since you both live off of a lot of cheap and pre-cooked meals, you’re really impressed by this spaghetti. Who know your genius little brother was also a high class chef?

“Don’t know what I’d do.” 

You hum and then slurp up a noddle extremely loudly until you catch Dirk rolling his eyes and you smile. You start thinking for real though. You can safely assume his AI project is a big one, something he won’t have done in time for some high school science fair. Knowing Dirk, it’ll be something big. Sometimes you’re afraid the government will come take him away and make him do super-secret projects that require one of a kind prodigies. Then again, what government agency is going to look in this dingy Houston neighborhood? 

“Volcano?” you suggest. 

Dirk gives you the sassiest look and you can’t even be mad because it’s too well done. You grin and he tries to hide his amusement. 

“Maybe a prototype of your AI?” you suggest. 

Dirk shrugs. 

Then you ask, “Ever considered scholarships?” 

“Yes. Probably the only way I can go, yeah?” 

You don’t reply. You eat your spaghetti with guilt sitting in your gut. He’s right and you hate that. He’s a genius full of amazing ideas for the entire world and you’re restricting him to public school and a one room apartment (technically three, the kitchen and living room are basically attached and there’s also your sad excuse for a bathroom, and lastly there’s Dirk’s room).

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dirk says softly. 

“I know. I’ll help you, I promise.” 

“I know you will.” 

He fidgets and scratches his head, a signal that he’s talking too much and it’s making him uncomfortable. So you hold your own conversation. With him of course, but you do all the talking. You talk about how Karkat gave you a romance novel to read but it’s been stuffed under your bed for a month now. You take a bite of your dinner and then proceed to talk about how Roxy has skipped a grade recently, and now she’s a seven-year-old in the fourth grade. 

You know Dirk has been talking to Roxy on something called Pesterchum, an online chat client, and you’re not surprised that Roxy is so good at typing already. Rose says they get along because they’re both little geniuses. 

You’re talking about Rose and Kanaya’s wedding that’s coming up in a few months. Kanya’s new fashion line has really taken off and Rose’s book is having raging success so they’ve been too busy to plan a wedding until recently. It will take place in New York where they both live with Roxy, but you’re worried about having enough money for the trip and getting enough days off of work. If you overwork yourself, maybe pick up a last minute third job, you could probably send just Dirk. You just hope his anxiety won’t ruin the trip for him when he’s all alone on a plane. 

“I think I’m gay,” Dirk says. 

There’s noodles hanging out of your mouth, getting sauce all over your chin. Your shades are off and so are Dirk’s, so you’re forced to meet his eyes. 

You’re not a homophobe. Hell, Rose is your best friend. You honestly don’t mind if Dirk thinks he’s gay, because sometimes you think you are too. Maybe bi? Probably pan. You just don’t have time to think about it because you’re too busy with work and being a guardian to even consider what your sexuality is. 

You’re worried about other things. You’re worried about Texas.

“What makes you think that?” you ask after slurping the noodles up. You wipe the sauce from your chin with a napkin, trying not to look like an idiot during a serious conversation. 

“Girls are nice,” Dirk says, speaking towards his bowl. You think his finger is shaking, but he’s holding his fork too tightly to really tell, and maybe that’s because he’s trying to hide it. Then he continues, “But I think boys are nice too. At least not the stupid ones. There’s a lot of stupid ones. But I know some nice ones and they’re really, really nice. Why should I only have to date fifty percent of single people when I could possibly like them all?” 

You try to make it look like you’re thinking about it, but you end up shrugging and agreeing. “That makes total sense actually.” 

“Bro?”

“Yeah?” 

“I have a dumb question.”

“Sup.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight? Technically, it’s just finding someone aesthetically pleasing, or enjoying an attractive outfit, but do you think there’s some connection through the air?” 

“Yes,” you reply immediately. 

Dirk is waiting for your explanation. It’s too cheesy to say aloud. But it was the day Dirk was born. Your mom was asleep in bed and your father was out at the vending machine, or maybe getting coffee. The point is, you were left alone with the newborn baby for the first time, allowed to really look at him and actually hold him. 

Dirk’s eyes have been a vibrant orange since the day he was born, just like how yours were red. His hair was so light you could still see his scalp where his skin was thin and white, showing a few blue veins underneath. He was impossibly tiny. You had seen toddlers all the time, but you had never held a baby that was fresh out of the womb, and Christ, he had been so, so tiny. He was bundled in a light blue blanket with a knitted hat provided by the hospital. 

You sat in a cushioned chair in the hospital room and leaned back, cradling the baby to your chest. He hadn’t been named yet. You ran a knuckle down the newborn’s cheek that was so soft, a little chubby. Then his eyes had opened, just a small crack, and you swore it looked just like the beginning of Lion King, the sun rising over the horizon of his eyelid. 

The baby looked back at you at that moment, and you had only been thirteen, but you were in love. Your parents weren’t going to be good parents, you knew you were going to be this child’s parent from that day forward. He was your brother, you came from the same flesh and blood. 

The child had cooed, one hand shoving out of the blanket, the tiniest fingers you had ever seen groping for something. You gave him your finger and he held on as tightly as his little digits could. He still looked tired, but he kept looking at you, searching your face, and then zeroing in on your brightly colored eyes. You gave him a name then. Your heart felt swollen and the world around you didn’t exist. There was just this bubble around that single chair that you sat in, holding him. 

Dirk didn’t know it then, but you were the one wrapped around his little finger that held yours. 

“Bro.” 

You look up, realizing you’ve been daydreaming about that moment this whole time while Dirk has been waiting for some type of response. 

“Maybe,” you say, changing your answer. 

“Why?” 

“I was just thinkin’ about when you were born.” 

Dirk scoffs a little, twisting his fork in his bowl. “Loser.” 

“I know.” 

Because of your cheesy line, you hope he understands that you’re okay with his coming out. It’d be pure hell if you told your parents, but they’re not here, you’re the parent now. And you’ll accept Dirk no matter who he likes or who he identifies as. Just like the day he was born, you’re still wrapped around his little finger. You want to give him everything that you can’t. 

That night you go to your job at the restaurant while Dirk continues to brainstorm on his science fair project. He seems annoyed by it because Dirk is the kind of kid that never involves himself in clubs or sports or organizations. As he puts it: “I go to school, I exist, I come home.” You wonder if he’s excited about this, though. You honestly can’t wait until he’s in college, surrounded by geniuses that will challenge his mind and push his limits until he’s the smartest kid in the world. 

Around nine you have your half hour break. You grab a bunch of fries to eat (they’re free when you’re on break) and head into a back room to sit and start drawing in a new notebook. You’ve filled up two by now and this one is your third one, halfway filled. You still draw comics, but recently you’ve been really into writing stories and dialogue, dumb shit to keep your mind off of all your fears and frustrations. 

You’re about ten fries down when your phone vibrates. You see Rose’s picture show up and you answer with a “Yo.”

“Yo, my ass, bitch,” Rose says. “Where’s my RSVP?” 

You sigh, but then it turns into a heavy groan. You’re trying to play it cool, make her laugh, but honestly you were afraid of this. The wedding is in less than a few months. 

“Money?” she asks. 

You just groan again. 

“You know it’s no problem.” 

“No, Rose.” 

“Come on. Successful author, remember? I literally just had an event at the mall so busy that the halls were clogged. I can afford a few plane tickets and a few nights for a hotel.”

“Rose, I can’t.”

“You shitstain on a jockstrap, it’s my fucking wedding and I don’t just want you there, I need you there, okay? I’m not buying you an apartment, I’m not getting you a giant steak dinner. I want you to come to my god. Damn. Wedding.” 

You’re quiet because she has a point. She isn’t doing this for you only, she’s doing it for herself, too. You two grew up talking every day online, just like with John. You haven’t all seen each other in years now and the wedding would be a great way for you all to feel better and be happy and forget about rent and bills. You’ve been saving a lot lately. You could probably miss just a few days… 

“Okay,” you say and give in. 

“Thank you,” she says, but it sounds like relief. “I miss your stupid ass.”

“I miss your gay ass.”

“My amazing psychoanalysis powers conclude that you’re full of shit. What’s been going on? What’re you doing?”

“On break at work. Doing some writing.” 

“You eating?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fries.”

“Fattening. But you need it.” 

“Uh-huh.” You eat some more now that you’re thinking about them. You’re hoping there’s a lot of leftovers tonight so that you can bring it home and save yourself a meal to buy with your own money. Every dollar counts. “Hey, Rose,” you say.

“Sup.”

“Dirk thinks he’s gay.”

“Cool.”

“No, not cool.”

“What, you have something against gays? You don’t have to come to my wedding, Strider.”

“No, shut up. I just… Augh, okay, I think about the time he got in that big fight with that kid when he was about six or seven, ya know? I think he gets picked on a lot. I dunno, he doesn’t talk about school. He’s been happier in the high school I think, so I guess he’s better, and I ain’t annoyed that he’s gay or anything, I’m glad he could trust me to tell me, I’m just worried because. I mean. Fuck, where am I?”

“Texas.”

“Exactly.” 

She hums to show she’s thinking about what you’ve said. She always understands what you say, no matter how messed up and puzzling your rants get. 

“Teach him to fight,” Rose suggests. 

Not a bad idea. “It kind of freaks me out,” you admit. “I hate the idea of him getting hurt somewhere. People have been killed here before, Rose.” 

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I know. One second.”

“Ignore your fiancé for a second, talk to me.”

“One second.”

So you wait. You get in a few more sentences on your paper done, then you hear a new voice on the phone: 

“What’s up nerds?” 

“Why the fuck did you call John?” you ask. 

“Dave and Dirk will be coming to the wedding,” Rose says.

“Nice!” John exclaims. “Oh man, we’re going to raise hell.”

“Not around my daughter.”

“Not around by brother.”

“Losers,” John sighs. 

 

 

Dirk takes two pills on the morning you get on the plane. He was nervous when you brought up the idea of going to New York for the wedding, only because he assumed he would be going alone like you brought up once. When you told him you were coming with he was made out of pure excitement for once. 

He’s shaking next to you, but you’re glad you’ve got a window seat. He stares out the window, his breathing matching the tremors in his body. You think he’s excited. Scared, too. For the last two days he’s avoided the news on TV or any news online. He was afraid he’d see something about a plane crash. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

He nods.

When Dirk grew to be taller than your hips, he stopped holding your hand like a child. He was too big for that. But when the plane takes off he reaches over and squeezes your hand tightly as his chest expands with a huge breath that he doesn’t seem to let go until the wheels are off the runway and you’re gaining altitude. Then you see him smile and know it was all worth it. 

The flying goes smoothly. Dirk gets a little sick later, but he falls asleep with his head on your shoulder and that makes the rest of the ride go more easily. When you arrive, Dirk stays attached to your side because he’s scared about getting lost in this strange place. He’s spent all his life in Houston and suddenly he’s traveled across states in the sky and was in one of the most famous states in America. 

John is already here for the wedding since he can afford to stay longer and he picks you and Dirk up from the airport. When you spot him you basically run to him and he gives you a romantic spin and then holds your cheeks, pretending to make out with you while exclaiming, “My love! You’ve returned from the war!” 

When he’s done embarrassing you he turns to Dirk with the common “You’ve gotten so big!” Then he proceeds to share every embarrassing story he can remember about you to Dirk in the back seat of a taxi. 

Dirk has his face pressed to the window the whole time, staring up at tall buildings and studying the crowded streets. 

“Is that…?” he asks, pointing out the window. 

John leans across you to look at where he’s pointing. Then he nods. “Yeah. Empire State Building.” 

“Whoa.” 

You grin, because seeing Dirk in awe is just as good as seeing him happy. He even glances at you with that same look as if to ask “Are you seeing this too?” and then goes back to admiring the extremely tall building. John chats with you about the wedding and the decorations and the gorgeous traditional red dress that Kanaya will be in.

The wedding is at Kanaya and Rose’s new home that they’ve been living in for the past six months. It’s… well, big. More than enough for three girls under one roof, but it’s isolated from the busy and cramped city, giving privacy. There’s a large yard where all the chairs are set up, draped with white pink ribbon (chosen by Roxy). 

The moment Dirk steps out of the car, Roxy is on a sprint from the front door to jump at him. Dirk, still fairly relaxed from his medicine, and also already knowing and trusting Roxy, smiles and hugs her tightly. You let the two of them catch up while you and John drag the luggage into the house’s guest bedroom where Rose offered you to stay for the weekend while Dirk sleeps in Roxy’s room. When you get inside you find Kanaya sitting on the couch with someone who looks a lot like her, but isn’t wearing a hijab and is covered in tattoos. 

“Dave, you made it!” Kanaya exclaims, coming over to hug and greet you. She gives you a teasing frown, tugging at your shirt sleeve. “Please tell me you’re not wearing this awful outfit to my wedding.”

“I have a very cheap suit from Savers, don’t worry,” you assure her. “The most gorgeous corduroy and velvet green fabric you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m going to vomit,” she sighs, but you grin. Then she tugs on your hand, introducing you to her sister, Porrim. 

Rose shows up eventually and John busts out the alcohol and everyone drinks except Kanya while the kids are off god knows where. Rose tells you not to worry though, Roxy knows the area and he’s safe with her. She’s more than sure they’re up in Roxy’s room anyway, probably geeking over codes or something. 

You think back to your twentieth birthday and feel that happiness again. Being with friends and going over old memories and having a drink as if you’re all bar buddies. Porrim shares embarrassing stories about her little sister and then they both give everyone a proper lesson on all they can about Islam, and then John preforms a bit of his new act for you all, something he’s definitely preforming again at Rose and Kanaya’s reception whether they like it or not. Dirk and Roxy join later and Dirk whispers to you that he has a science fair idea now and then presses himself against your side on the couch. He ends up speaking a little, even when a big group has their attention on him, and you pat his back to show you’re proud.

Around midnight, both Roxy and Dirk’s eyes are struggling to stay open. Rose carries her daughter on her chest and Dirk holds your sleeve as he lead him upstairs to Roxy’s room where there’s an air mattress set up on the floor since they both wouldn’t fit in Roxy’s twin bed that has a huge Harry Potter comforter on it, complete with a Hedwig stuffed animal.

“You got Lil Cal?” you ask Dirk while Rose puts Roxy down to help her put on her PJs. 

Dirk nods, glancing towards his luggage next to the bed. 

“Good. I’ll be in the guest room right downstairs, you know where it is, right?”

He nods again. 

“Good. It’s gonna be awesome tomorrow. If you can’t find anything, Roxy knows the house too, so you can always wake her, okay? Or me. It’s all good.” 

He nods and moves in to give you a quick hug. You kiss his head and murmur that you love him because you get scared he’s getting too old to hear you say you love him. Every once in a while, during a good bro bonding day you like to let it slip out and remind him that nothing about that has changed. You tell him you love him in different ways when not saying it verbally.

Rose kisses her daughter goodnight and then joins you by the door to turn the light off and head back downstairs. This is all your version of a bachelorette party so the drinking continues, and then John pulls out some nerdy card games. Things get intense and you battle each other in some fantasy world, cheers or groans erupting when a high or low number comes up on the die. And then suddenly it’s past two in the morning and Porrim reminds the two brides that they have a big day tomorrow and then everyone is forced to bid each other goodnight. 

The guest room is fancy. It’s the size of your kitchen and living room combined. It even has its own bathroom attached and you totally overuse the shower because you deserve to have an extra ten minutes of hot water that doesn’t turn cold when someone else in the building flushes a toilet. 

When you’re trying to fall asleep, a hand nudges you. You’d scream in fear, but you’re still a little buzzed from drinking, so you just kind of grunt and open your eyes until you see a human shape next to your bed. 

“What’s wrong?” you slur. 

Your little brother says nothing. He’s holding Cal. He’s gone into his mute mode. 

“New place?” you try and guess. “Kinda scary?” 

He doesn’t speak, but his hand creeps up onto the blanket. You scoot over as your own reply and Dirk crawls up. He doesn’t bury himself into you like he did when he was younger, but he does put his head on the pillow facing you and you face him too as you try to fall asleep again and Dirk falls asleep just as quickly. 

 

 

The wedding is beautiful. You’ve never been to a wedding before and Dirk has to hand you a tissue. Even though she’s in a white dress, Rose has a black lace veil and black lipstick to show the real her in it all. Kanaya is just as gorgeous in her traditional gown. When they’re pronounced wives, the flower girl (Roxy) chucks the rose petals into the sky with a cry of triumph that has John laughing so hard next to you. 

During the reception, you eat a lot. Meats and roasted veggies. Dirk eats just as much even though he’s so tiny, and you think it’s the first time you really notice. You were helping him with his tie this morning and then patted at his shirt to smooth the wrinkles out and you felt his ribs under your touch and you felt a pang of guilt. You thought you were feeding him well. Maybe it’s just the Strider family’s fast metabolism. 

When the sun sets, lights are turned on outside to keep the party going. Everyone dances to the music a DJ is playing, or drinking and mingling as the newlyweds make their rounds. You get out your phone and record your little brother trying to dance with Roxy in a waltz, Dirk looking awkward and stumbling while Roxy ends up just stepping on his feet and telling him to walk her around.

You kiss Rose and Kanaya’s cheeks when they make their rounds and get to you and John. During speeches, John does indeed give a very hilarious and embarrassing comedy bit that relates to the first time he met Rose and had a crush on her until realizing he was lacking to her female priorities. And then you’re asked to give a speech. Dirk pushes on your back without speaking, pressuring you. 

You give a very awkward speech that turns into a lot of weird metaphors of ranting. But all you’re trying to say is that you’re eternally grateful for Rose’s friendship. She supported you when you were alone and you believe you did the same for her, and you couldn’t be happier for her own happiness. Your cheeks feel red and your hands are shaking a bit when you’re done, but Dirk just smiles and grabs your arm, shaking it. His way of saying good job. 

Rose and Kanaya give their own speeches. As they do, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You don’t recognize the number, so you ignore it. Five minutes later, the number is calling again. You ignore it. Then it calls again. You whisper to Dirk that you’ll be right back and head to the edge of where all the tables are set up to quietly answer the phone. 

“What?”

“David Strider?”

“Just Dave.” 

“Yes, guardian to Derrick Strider?”

“Again, it’s just Dirk. Who is this? I’m at a wedding, why are you bothering me?” 

“Mr. Strider, we received an anonymous concern from a teacher at your child’s school. This is Child Protective Services and we’d like to make an appointment for one of our agents to come take a look at your home and interview you both.” 

 

 

Goodbyes are hard, but you smile and nod and hug and smile and smile and smile. You’re sad to leave, you really are. You’ll miss the shower and the food and your friends. But you have a flight to catch and a visit to prepare for. 

“What’s wrong?” Dirk asks when you’re on the plane. 

“Someone is going to come to the apartment this Wednesday. Just tell them the truth, okay?” 

“CPS,” he says. 

He’s too smart for you. 

When the two of you get home you both unpack, you change to go to work. You have jet lag and you’re tired and scared, but you’re forced to be polite to strangers who come to eat steak and get buzzed on the side and you have to put on your best smile if you want good tips. You can’t get that voice out of your head though. 

Child Protective Services. 

What fucker called them? There were kids out there literally being beaten, tortured, starved, and they were bugging you? You didn’t eat much, but Dirk did. You would never let Dirk go without a meal. 

You’re serving someone their salad and baked potato when your tears start to sting your contacts. 

You can’t lose him. 

Your manager asks if you’re okay and you nod, but he offers you the rest of the night off. You can’t afford that though, you need the money, so you refuse. No matter how terrified you are, you have to keep working. Otherwise Dirk really will be taken away. 

Your fingers are shaking when you go to take the next two guests to their booths and offer them menus. A grandmother and her grandson. They both have very dark skin with equally dark hair, but they each share dazzling green eyes. The grandson speaks with an accent and they both ask for vegetarian meals and their exciting and charming attitudes really help pick you up for the night. 

Then the grandson sees your nametag. 

“You’re Dirk’s big brother,” he says. 

“Um. Yeah. You are?”

“I’m Jake! Dirk’s a good mate of mine. We’re in class together. I’m in the ninth grade too. Normal intelligence, though. Couldn’t skip the wave tips of grades like him, had to do it one at a time and all, ya know?” 

“He can’t stop talking about his new genius friend,” the grandmother says. She holds her hand out to you, giving a wink. “Gramma Jade. You’re a cutie.” 

“I—thank you,” you stutter as you shake her hand. 

She talks a lot, but you like her. She owns a private island and is apparently a very successful scientist, but during the school year her grandson comes to mainland for school and she’s visiting for the week. They both love to shoot guns and only hunt game on this private island when they need to supply their own food. They’re honestly some of the most interesting people you’ve met in a long time and you spend more time than you’re supposed to lollygagging at their table to chat. 

Jade is truly a cute charmer. For an old grandmother, she’s full of muscle and has a smart brain. Jake’s a goof, but you can tell he has a good heart and he talks a lot about his class with Dirk and tends to brag about how smart his “good ol’ chap” is rather than brag about himself. You almost don’t want to bring them their check. You’d rather sit in the booth with them and chat it all up. 

But the next time you pass their table to chat, they’re gone. You sigh and pick up the five dollar tip they left and find an envelope underneath with your name written on it. One of your coworkers comes up behind you, asking what’s in it. Even your manager is hovering and watching. You open the flap and your mouth slaps over your mouth in shock from the amount of money that’s stuffed inside. 

“Holy shit,” your manager says. 

“It has my name on it,” you say, scared that he’s going to take it from you and spread the amount to all the employees. You wouldn’t be totally against it, almost all of your coworkers are good people, but this had your name on it. It’s yours. Then again, you want to chase Gramma Jade and her grandson down and force her to take it back, but you try to remind yourself of what Rose said. She’s doing it because she wants to. 

“It sure does,” your manager finally says and claps you on the back. 

It’s yours. 

You flip through all the bills and count out two hundred dollars. You almost start crying right there in Applebee’s. 

On your way home you stop at Wal-Mart because it’s always open and you get Dirk a new outfit, brand new, including new shoes that you know he’ll love. You know you should put all the money into savings, but he deserves it. 

It’s one in the morning when you get home and Dirk has fallen asleep on your bed, which is also the family couch, so you can’t really kick him off. You wake him and tell him you got a big bonus at work because you don’t want him to know that his new friend (that he hasn’t told you about for some reason) made his grandma give you two hundred fucking dollars. 

Even if he’s tired, Dirk is happy, and he tries the shoes on and struts around the apartment in them. He puts on his shirt and his new sweater too, hugging himself from the softness and the warmth. 

You watch a movie with him, even if it’s a school night. You’re both still happy from the wedding, even if you’re terrified about CPS. You look at Dirk sitting next to you in his new clothes, the light from the TV flashing on his face and making his orange eyes appear to be different tinted colors. You run a hand through his hair and he looks up at you, studies your expression, and then smiles before watching TV again. 

You’re making enough money. You’ll be okay. 

And then everything falls apart. 

 

 

On Monday night you come home from your stocking job with tears in your eyes and a shake in your fingers. Your boss blamed the technology they have and how much money they have to pay other employees. Long story short, you were let go. You only have one job now. Not enough. It’s not enough. The rest of the money from Gramma Jade was used for rent. There’s not enough… 

You don’t sleep that night. Dirk doesn’t know. He doesn’t know until you hear him come into your room in the morning before he goes to school and he starts shaking your arm. 

“Dude. Don’t you have work?” 

You open your eyes and turn over to look at him. He takes one look at your face and understands. He frowns and sniffs and squeezes your arm. 

“You’ll find one today,” he says softly. 

“I will. I’m going to look for applications all day, I promise. I really do, okay? Everything is going to be okay.”

“You always say that everything is going to be okay.”

“Because I mean it.” 

He nods slowly, but he’s scared, you can tell. You sit up in bed and suddenly pull him into you, squeezing tightly. 

“I will never let anyone take you from me. I promise.” 

Dirk nods against your shoulder, even if he’s full of logic and facts and doesn’t completely believe you. He trusts you though, and that’s what matters. 

When Dirk goes to the school, you start the job search. You put on the same cheap suit you wore to Rose’s wedding and walk into every single place nearby and even across town. Dollar Tree, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Target, Sears, every gas station, Tropic Waters pet store, and many, many more. A lot of them aren’t hiring. Some ask you to fill out an application. You’ve never filled out your name and phone number so many times in one day. You’ve never heard a polite manager say “We’ll call you” so many times with lies in their eyes. 

You don’t give up all day, though. When the sun goes down you’re still driving to super stores and restaurants, desperate for anything. Anything at all that will let you keep your kid. 

You need money for tomorrow, some bigger number in your bank account to prove you can continue supporting your kid when the CPS agent comes.

You go home and change for work, feeling utterly depressed. You’re numb, but you’re scared. Dirk tries to speak to you but you shake your head and speak in hardly a breath that everything will be okay before patting his head and leaving. You don’t smile at customers. Your manager asks if you need a break but you apologize for you mood and put on the fakest attitude you’ve ever used. You smile and crack jokes while the real you feels like dying. 

When you’re done it’s midnight. You go out to your car, feeling a chill as you glance down the street where downtown is. Where the clubs and the bars are. 

You don’t drive home. You go to a club. The car is unbelievably quiet and you’re scared and shivering and your palms are sweating. You’re scared, so scared. 

It’s for Dirk. And he never has to know. Even when you’re both old men, you’ll never share with him what you’re about to do tonight. You will not let him starve. You will not let them take him. No one understands him the way you do. He doesn’t have to know. He doesn’t have to know. 

You close the car door and pay the last of your money to go inside the club. 

You’ll never tell him. 

You strip your shirt off and wait for the first man to approach. 

Dirk will never know. 

You do it in a bathroom stall. 

CPS will never know. 

A second man hears and offers you even more. 

If you believe hard enough, maybe you can forget it ever happened too. The same way Dirk will never know it happened. 

You have a wad of bills in your pocket. You’re shaking and you’re bruised and sore and tired. It’s two in the morning. You go home and Dirk isn’t on your futon, which means he’s asleep in his room. You peek in and sure enough he’s curled up in his orange covers, Lil Cal clutched in his arms and a bunch of metal pieces spread out on the floor, probably for his science fair project. 

You eat a single cheese stick for dinner and then take a shower. Instead of three minutes you spend a good ten minutes in there, scrubbing every inch of your body until you don’t feel the dirtiness anymore, but you have a feeling that it will always be there. You can’t scrub it out of your brain with soap. 

You fold out the futon and curl up in your blanket and watch the news on your little TV. You learn about who got in a car accident, who’s doing a good deed, and what the weather is for tomorrow. You turn the TV off. You begin to cry. Your face presses into your pillow and you sob, but you’re also trying to be quiet as your body curls up to block out the world. 

What are you doing? You’re disgusting. You’d ask yourself if it’s worth it, but everything is worth it for Dirk. That doesn’t mean that you feel like the epitome of scum right now.

Dirk’s door opens and you don’t care. You feel the futon move and you don’t care. He doesn’t ask you why you’re crying, but he does grabs your arm and lift it so he can slip underneath it and press himself into your chest. You give in, clutching him and still crying. You cry until you fall asleep and Dirk never says a word, staying in your arms all night. 

 

 

On Wednesday morning, the CPS person is supposed to show up. Dirk doesn’t ask you about last night. You wonder if he knows. He’s smart, but you didn’t really give anything away. You make him breakfast in silence and go through the usual routine of conversation after. 

“Take your pills?”

Nod.

“Did your homework?” 

Nod. 

“Brush your teeth?”

Nod. 

You drive Dirk to school yourself because you want to be near him. You don’t want him to think you’re avoiding him because you’re depressed. You stroke his hair once and give him a soft smile and he spends a few extra seconds staring at you before he slips out of the car and goes inside with all the other high schoolers. 

You stop at the bank and put the money you made last night in your checking account. You clean up the entire apartment and do the laundry and the dishes and put on a nice, clean outfit. You freak out all day. When Dirk comes home you tell him to clean his room and he obeys without speaking. 

At five in the afternoon the knock comes at the door. You take your shades off for politeness and open the door, greeting a woman in a suit and a clipboard and glasses that are full of too many “fun” colors. 

“Hello, I’m from Child Protective Services, we had an appointment.” 

You nod. Smile. Be polite. 

“Yeah, of course. Come in.” 

She looks around the apartment that you’ve tried to make as presentable as possible. Dirk is still in his room. You offer her water or tea but she declines. You stand quietly with your hands shaking behind your back as he goes into the kitchen and opens cupboards and writes things down. You filled the fridge today, no matter how much it hurt your bank account, because you needed to make it look like the fridge was always that full.

Then she interviews you on the couch. She asks you where you work and how much you make and how you’re handling money. How much time do you spend with Dirk? Have you ever hit your kid? You try to stay calm, knowing she’s required to ask, but you’re slightly offended as you tell her that you’ve never, ever harmed Dirk. 

“Mr. Strider, if my calculations are correct, with the job you have now you won’t be able to afford care for Dirk and also afford rent. Not to mention care for yourself.”

“I— I lost a job recently. I was let go. I was out all day yesterday, I’ve done nothing but look for another job. I’ll have one by the end of this week.” 

“Mmhm. If you don’t, I’ll really have to consider taking Dirk, I hope you know that.”

“I understand.” 

She asks if she can see Dirk. You go to his room and knock before opening it. He’s sitting on the floor, screwing plates of metal together on his little robot that he’s making for the science fair. He’s using some of the coding for his AI to make a rapping robot, usable for rap battles. He’s going to slay the science fair. 

“The agent would like to speak to you,” you say quietly. “Remember what I said. Be honest.” 

Dirk nods and you put a hand on his back to lead him into the kitchen where the lady is still waiting at the table with her clipboard. She’s incredibly intimidating. 

“He’s got some speech issues. Don’t push him if he can’t talk,” you say to her. 

“Speech issues?” 

“He used to be mute until he was seven. When he was a few years old the doctor suggested autism, but we never looked into it. And he has an anxiety disorder, so just… just be good to him, please.”

Dirk is looking at his fingernails as if he heard nothing. Then she asks her questions. Have you ever hit him, how much does he eat a day, is he happy. Dirk gives one worded answers. Sometimes he just nods or shakes his head. After fifteen minutes the agent says, “I have one more question.”

Then your little brother blurts, “If you take me away from my bro I’ll run away from the foster family you stick me in.” 

“Dirk,” you warn. 

The agent blinks. Then she asks slowly, “And how are your grades, Dirk?”

“Perfect. I’m a child prodigy. What did you expect?” 

“Dirk,” you say again, much more sternly. 

He looks up at you and you can tell he’s trying to say sorry. Either he doesn’t speak at all or he doesn’t have a filter on what comes out. 

“Well,” the CPS lady says, “until you get a good job, I’ll have to figure out a family for Dirk—”

“No.”

“—and when you do have a job, you can apply for a court date.” 

“No, no, no.”

The agent is trying to talk to Dirk who looks like he’s panicking. He might even have an anxiety attack. Your phone rings. You want to igore it, but it keeps ringing and ringing and ringing. You turn away and answer it with an almost frantic, “What?” 

“Dave Strider?” 

“What.” 

“Hi, I’m a representative of Bright Sky Press, the publishing company. Rose Lalonde, the author of _Complacency of the Learned_ , contacted me about what a good writer and what a good worker you are. I’d like to have an interview as soon as possible? It’s necessary, but I’m pretty sure I’m adding you to the team regardless.” 

“One moment.” You put the phone against your chest and put a hand on the side of Dirk’s head, pulling him into your side as your thumb brushes against his hair. He’s about to have a panic attack and you have to calm him ahead of time. At the same time you face the lady at your kitchen table who’s tapping her pen, waiting. 

“I have a job,” you say. “I have a really, really good job.” 

 

 

You’re in the middle of a crowd of middle aged parents. You’re probably the youngest parent/guardian here. Then again, all the students on stage are around fifteen and up, and your eleven-year-old brother is up there next to a box shaped robot that’s wearing an askew hat. It’s bobbing slightly and rapping for the audience and your little brother is holding up a blue ribbon, eyes searching the crowd until he finds you. When you meet eyes you throw your hands over your head and clap until your palms are stinging, your choice cheering. You’re the loudest parent there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went really overboard in length. there's always so much to add! Hope you all like it. c: You can ask any questions here in comments or ask me at my tumblr (plajus), I love to chat~


	4. Chapter 4

You’re Dirk Strider and Jake English is the reason you came out four years ago. Jake English travels to a lot of different schools, but recently he’s been staying in Houston and living with a host family while you both finish senior year together. You met Jake when he was a freshman, and he was two years older than you because he’s skipped two grades (the third and the sixth) because he was homeschooled back on his island, which really helped him jump ahead. 

You spoke in school, but never much. That caused people to avoid you. Jake did not avoid you. Jake absolutely loved talking, and when he saw you not talking and avoiding all of humanity he took it as a challenge. 

Jake has gorgeously dark skin and he says it’s not a tan from the island, it’s all natural, colored genes. His accent changes a lot. Sometimes it’s American, sometimes it’s Cockney and sometimes it’s Caribbean. He says it comes from going to school in so many different places while growing up, and whatever place he thinks about that morning slips its way into his voice. You find that you love it. You love it more when he teases the occasional drawl that slips its way from your lips. 

On another note, gym class makes you completely uncomfortable. A doctor’s note that says you have a severe anxiety disorder does not mean the school is going to let you skip out on gym class with permission. It means you have to go anyway, but you have to skip without permission and get a docked grade for it. Dave doesn’t mind though. He says he’ll give the principal a stern talking to if you end up getting an F in the class. 

So you spend gym class sitting in a changing stall, playing on your old as hell Game Boy. And Jake skips with you. The stall has two benches across from each other. He’s sitting sideways on the other side and you have your feet up on the edge of his bench. 

“That’s older than my grandmother,” he says, looking at your Game Boy. 

“Not true. The first Game Boy was invented in 1989.”

“Don’t turn into a smarty pants, Strider. Skinnies look better on you.” 

You get that he’s trying to say, but the fact that he has preferred clothing for you makes your cheeks feel a little warm. You’re ridiculous. Then again, he’s right. You do look good in skinnies. 

“You’re not worried about getting an absence?” you ask. 

“It’s just one day. My grades will still look tip-top. Besides, this is such a charming little changing stall, wouldn’t you agree?”

You roll your eyes and smirk. You’re still playing Power Puff Girls for the thousandth time on your Game Boy, the music put on low so that it doesn’t echo through the locker room.

“Are you a homosexual?” Jake asks. 

Your eyes widen under your pointed shades. They’re not the same pair from your seventh birthday because you hit puberty and got too big so Dave got you a new pair for Christmas when you were fourteen. Puberty was the worst… 

But you’re not focused on that, you’re wondering what the hell brought this out of Jake’s mouth. You came out to Dave, and you check guys out subtly, but you’re not out in school. There’s no way in hell you’re coming out in a Texan school like this, not if you want to hear murder plans behind your back in study hall or in lunch. Jake and Jane Crocker are your only friends in this school though, so maybe Jake is close enough to you to notice? You’re not really a flaming homo though, not like the horribly stereotyped gay guys in bad sitcoms. 

“Why do you ask?” you finally question quietly as if someone might be in the empty room, listening. Maybe a ghost.

“I find you quite attractive,” Jake says. 

Your face is burning. 

“Wouldn’t mind—ya know,” Jake fumbles. “Wanted to make sure you were—well, yeah. Comfortable. Chill? Yeah, chill. Quite chill with experimenting in some form of lip connection.”

“Kissing,” you translate for him. Your face _burns_.

“Affirmative,” the dark dork says. 

“Okay,” you say, as if you’re not scared. As if your palms aren’t sweating as if your heart isn’t racing and as if you’re not scared, scared, scared. 

You let him do the work because you’re too scared. You stare at your Game Boy screen until he’s leaning across the space between you where you’ve both left your backpacks. He blocks the screen and you can’t see Bubbles anymore, you can see his black nose and his lips until his skin is too close to really focus on one feature, and then he’s kissing you. 

And it’s really awkward. 

Maybe in a good way though. You’re having your first kiss at fifteen. He kisses you firmly, just once. His lips are bigger than yours, so your pale ones fit like a smaller puzzle piece between his. His eyes are closed. Yours are not. You don’t know what to do. Do you touch his face? Are you supposed to suck or something? 

Then he makes a small suck, right on your bottom lip, and you hear that noise that you do in TV shows when people pull away from a kiss, just a very soft smack. He’s grinning at you and his eyes have this little shine like they’re gems. 

“Golly,” he says. 

You snort because he just said the word “golly” after kissing you. Then he laughs because he knows why you’re laughing and you cover your face, the cold sweat in your palms cooling the flames of nervousness in your face. Jake switches benches to sit by you for the rest of the hour, his arm resting around your waist, fingers touching your hip. You think you shiver the entire time. 

 

 

Dave’s job at the printing company is going more than okay. He won’t tell you how much he’s making an hour, but he gets the weekends off and the fridge almost always has food in it and you get to shop at other stores besides Dollar Tree now. 

You’re happy that he’s not depressed anymore. That’s what matters. You’ve been too young for a job all these years, but you’re aware of everything he’s sacrificed for you. He doesn’t want you to know about the depression he went through, so you pretend to just go with things. Still, you’re just happy you see him more. You don’t hear him cry at night anymore. 

When you get home today, Dave is on his laptop. He’s been on his laptop a lot, looking back and forth from his notebook full of scribbles of comics and dialogue that he’s been turning into a script, something Rose suggested and Dave seemed very excited about it. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, his shades up on his head. 

“Sup.” 

“How was the hellhole?”

“Hell. How’s the script?” 

“Done. Just editing. It’s a long shot, but I actually scored a meeting?” 

“Whoa, for real?” 

He nods as you lean over the back of the futon to gaze at the screen. You read the dialogue between his two famous characters and snort against his hair. 

“What?” he asks after your snort. 

“This is so stupidly ironic.”

“That’s the point.”

“I know. It’s gonna kick ass.” 

“Thanks.” 

You give his head a pat and head to the kitchen to get yourself a snack and start on your homework. You have an advantage over the other students when it comes to homework since everything comes so easily to you, so it’s all finished within fifteen minutes. Soon enough school will be finished. You’ll sit with all the other eighteen-year-olds with a cap and gown and Dave will snap pictures of you and say “Fuck no, I didn’t cry” as he wipes under his shades. The gown and cap are already hanging up in your room. 

College will come soon too. Dave has a savings account for you, and right now you can only afford one semester, and you can also afford a second semester with a scholarship you won with your newly updated rapping bot, Squarewave. The rest will have to come from loans, but you’ve agreed to take a year off to help save money before choosing a university in the first place. 

When Dave is done with his editing, you get to use the laptop. You plop down and open your Pesterchum account to see who’s online and find Roxy.

timeausTestified [TT] began pestering  tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

TT: Gossip emergency.

TG: sup

TT: I kissed Jake. 

TG: hot damn 

TG: oooooh bby

TG: unf unf unf unf unf what up

TT: No, not unf.

TG: not unf???

TT: Not unf. 

TT: It was kind of unf? You see, I’m good at the smart shit, not the psychoanalysis-brain shit like your mom, and as great as your mother is I’d rather not have a shrink session with her about this.

TG: which mom?

TT: What a knee-slapper, Roxy please, my cheeks hurt!

TG: hey, shut up

TG: okay okay lemme think 

TG: maybe like

TG: you could be asexual or something man, maybe that’s why u’ve got a crush but like, u dont like being kissed n stuff

TT: You think? I don’t know. I mean, I’m like all other fifteen-year-olds when it comes to sex.

TG: no you aint

TG: cause you respect ladies

TT: Dude.

TG: i know what you mean brobama

TG: ur horny and fantasize about dicks n shit right

TT: Well, I wouldn’t put it in exactly those words, but yeah. Pretty much, dude.

TG: well dirky im eleven 

TG: im not totally in love with the concept of sex and porn but ya know

TT: Don’t your write HP smut?

TG: ITS ART

TT: Okay, okay. I gotcha. 

TT: Back to the boy thing though. 

TT: So I don’t think I’m ace, ‘cause I totally love daydreaming about sex and- 

TT: Wait, you’re right. You’re eleven. This is weird.

TG: yeahhhhhh 

TG: i mean i totes wanna help you, u know that

TG: but this probs isnt appropriate

TT: I know. Sorry, Lalonde. I’ll figure it out.

TG: ya know, u should just bring this up with jake cause if youre gonna have a relationship with him then you gotta learn how to be honest and share feelings and shit. my moms dont hide anything from each other

TG: even the lil things

TT: You’re right. As usual.

TG: i know

TG: u got this bby

TT: I’ll talk to you later, all right? Message me later, I wanna know how that program of yours is doing.

TG: oki doki!

TG: roxy OUT

TT: See ya, nerd.

TG: (look whos talkin!!!!!)

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

You consider messaging Jake, even when he’s not online. You could sit around and wait. But having serious chats about relationship statuses is about as scary to you as being kissed is. You don’t understand your issue. You watch porn sometimes when Dave isn’t home, and you’ve had private time in the shower (again, when Dave’s not home. The apartment is still pretty shitty with thin walls), but having Jake kiss you in the flesh was scary. 

You try looking for something on Google, but you get stuff similar to what Roxy said, suggestions of asexuality. But you know that’s not what you have. At least you don’t think so. And you’d really rather not chat with Dave about it, not at fifteen.

 

 

Your friendship with Jake doesn’t change from the kiss, but you call it a friendship because neither of you have labeled it. He treats you like his best friend the next day, clapping you on the back and then remembering not to when you flinch or make an uncomfortable expression. Maybe that’s it though, your anxiety. You crave touch, but you’re scared of it. Maybe you have to slowly ease into it, the way you did with Rose and John when you were younger. 

So you invite Jake over on Friday. He’s been over before, but not when there’s obvious physical attraction between the two of you. He acts like everything is the same, but your heart is racing and your cheeks feel warm as you put out chips on the table and sit next to him on the futon while he shows you games on his DS. You get closer. Press yourself against him. You can hear the smile in his voice as he shows you the Pokémon he’s just caught, but you’re putting your head on his shoulder and fantasizing about all the lovey Disney movies you watched as a kid. 

Then the door opens and your big brother says, “Holy shit, are you sure this is Texas? There’s a black kid and a gay kid on my couch, the whole state is screeching in agony over the intense diversity.” 

“Oh, my god,” you groan. 

“Evening, Mr. Strider!” Jake greets. 

“Hey, Mr. English,” Dave says in a matching accent. “You weren’t feeling up my kid brother, were you?” 

“Bro!” you exclaim. 

It’s hard to see the blush through Jake’s skin, but damn, it’s there. “No, no, sir! I would never—”

“It was a joke, relax.” 

Dave pats your head as he goes to the kitchen and drops his keys and wallet in the key bowl you made when you were seven. He grabs fresh clothes and goes to the bathroom to change and wash up, but it won’t get that new book smell off of him from being at the publishing company. Sometimes he works in the printing area on the bottom floor, so he smells like the new pages and the glue used to hold the books together. Recently he’s been working on some of the editing floors, following his boss around to learn a few things. 

“Sorry about him,” you apologize to Jake. 

“It’s quite alright, he seems like a real hoot,” Jake chuckles. “I suppose I’m curious as to why he would assume I was feeling you up? Did you tell him I kissed you?” 

“No. I, uh—I guess I didn’t—I don’t understand what it—” You’re so embarrassed, nothing is coming out right. This is why you can talk long paragraphs when you’re online, because you’re allowed to think ahead and correct mistakes after reading it all over right before you hit send. When you speak aloud it just comes out in messes and it hurts your head and it humiliates you. You supposed that’s why it was always easy to talk to Dave though, because he seemed to understand you without words. 

“Dirk, relax,” Jake says, and his voice is sweet, but you hate it when people tell you to calm down when you stutter. You can’t _help it._

“I just—” Deep breath. Speak slowly. “I don’t know… what we are.” 

“Oh.” Jake has lost all interest in his game now. He looks over at you, his pretty eyes framed up for you to focus on. “Would you like to be something?”

“Would you?”

“I’m asking if you would, though.”

“Only if you do.”

“But do you?”

“If you want.” 

“Jesus fucking kringles.” He leans in and kisses you without asking this time, just full on lips pressed against lips. Firm and leading with a good suck, and dear God, you think that’s his tongue rubbing against your bottom lip. You think you try to kiss back, but you don’t know what to do again, so you just purse your lips and remember to close your eyes this time, but it’s brief and squinted before he’s done and you’re hiding a gasp. 

His voice is very soft, and you can feel his breath on your cheek. “You all right?” he asks. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, but honestly your heart is racing again, and it’s not in the good way. 

“You—you don’t like being touched, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t know. I was just nervous, that’s all.” 

“Well… okay. If you say so. But you’re more than welcome to open up with any problems you may have. I’m always up for a discussion.” 

“I know. Thanks. Just, uh… warn me next time? Caught me off guard. I guess.” 

He nods instead of speaking this time, which is a new thing for him. He smiles though, and he lets you press yourself into his side carefully once you’ve calmed down so that you can watch him play his game again and he even lets you play and teaches you some of the new controls. When you’re not worried about physical contact, you’re okay. 

Dave comes from the bathroom and says he’s going to get some groceries, grabs the keys, and pats your head again on the way out. You call a goodbye and tell him to shut up when he says to leave a sock on the door if things get rowdy. He’s such a dumbass. 

Your head goes back to Jake’s shoulder. He’s talking and he’s happy and you feel okay. But you remember that neither of you have labeled this thing yet.

 

 

“Rejected,” Dave says, throwing his script down on the coffee table. 

This is the fourth time. 

“Some people are rejected a hundred times,” you say as you look up from your laptop. You’re currently having a conversation with Jake on Pesterchum, and you were moments away from bringing up the idea or labeling whatever this relationship was, but Dave came home from his meeting and interrupted it. 

“Authors, not script-writers,” Dave counters. 

“And what statistic says this?”

“Don’t get smart.”

You shrug with a confused expression. You type out to Jake that you have to go because your big brother is having a crisis like a little baby and then log out. You pick up the script on the table and flip through it, smirking and smiling at the stupidity of it, but only Dave could make something so incredibly stupid and have it actually be funny. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask. 

Dave’s in the kitchen, almost violently drinking apple juice, which is just another funny image. Then he says, “Yeah. Thursday.” 

“Okay. Just keep scheduling more meetings. And when they don’t work out, make some edits, and then schedule another meeting. Are you listening to me, Bro?”

“Eh.”

“Bro.”

He whines loudly like a baby.

“Dave.” 

“Whaaaaat,” he groans. 

“Your script is hilarious. It’s genius. But come on. You’re a high school dropout living in a shit apartment, no offence, so you just have to wait until you meet the right person who can look past that and actually see the script, not you. Maybe try sending it in. Let them read the script before they read you, yeah?” 

Dave is hovering behind you now. His hand rests on your head, a few fingers tracing the light spikes in your hair that happen so naturally when you push it back all the time. He makes a hum, peering at the script that you have open in your lap. 

“You’re right,” he says. 

“I know.” 

“Thanks, kid. After everything…” He makes a heavy sigh. You’re a lot older now and it’s harder for him to be open because he’s afraid your smart brain will understand too much. Years later and he still wants you to think he’s indestructible. A few more moments pass and he finally gets it out: “I’m glad you support me, even when it’s hard to give you all you deserve.” 

“Nerd,” you say, hoping to ease his nerves. 

He chuckles, understanding your translation. Nerd basically means “it’s okay and I still love you.” 

 

 

Jake’s grandmother comes to visit her grandson again from her private island and you get to have dinner with them one night. She makes you a wonderful stew with vegetables she grew from her own garden and promises that you’ll be a million times healthier after you’re done eating it. 

During dinner, Jake holds your hand under the table and you don’t know what it means and you’re so fucking embarrassed by your sweaty palms, but Jake either doesn’t care or he doesn’t notice, which is pretty nice of him. You stutter during dinner when you talk to Jade, so Jake does more of the talking for you.

A few days later Jade goes back to the island and Jake invites you over again, but to his host family’s house, which would happen to be Jane Crocker and her father. Jane is very easy to talk to. She’s logical but also silly and so much smarter than she really thinks she is. She identifies as and is a woman, but sometimes she loves dressing up in more masculine attire, and you make sure to tell her that she’s very handsome on those days and she’ll thank you by pretending to twist the end of a mustache that isn’t really there under her nose. 

After an amazing dinner cooked by her father, Jane takes you up to her room where the three of you sit on her bed and Skype with Roxy for a while. For once, you see Roxy stuttering and nervous. You can’t tell if it’s because she thinks Jake is smoking hot or if she thinks Jane is smoking hot, but you’ll have to remind her late that she is eleven. You and all your friends are totally off limits for another seven years or so. 

After the call, Jane shows you all funny videos online and you all take turns searching different hilarious videos to watch together. After an hour Jake goes to the bathroom and you’re left alone sitting next to Jane on her bed. She suddenly scoots closer to you and whispers as if Jake can hear you two rooms down, “He your boyfriend?” 

“What? I—I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He just… holds my hand sometimes. Sometimes we kiss. We haven’t talked about it.”

“Well, you should.”

“It’s hard. I get nervous, which is dumb, because nervousness is dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. Don’t you have an illness?”

You look at her with slightly shocked eyes behind your shades. Why does she knows this? 

“I saw you take your pills one morning on your way into school. I just recognized the bottle, and I suppose I’ve recognized some of your little quirks and all. Is it depression?” 

“Anxiety.” 

“See? Not dumb. If it makes you scared talking about it with him or bringing it up then I don’t mind talking to him for you and convincing him to start a conversation with you.” 

“You’d do that for me?”

She nods and grins happily. You mentally prepare yourself before you reach over and wrap your arms around her. She makes the cutest “hoo hoo hoo!” laugh and hugs you back, then pretends to twist her invisible mustache once more. You sit closer to her for most of the night rather than Jake when he gets back. 

 

 

Four days after that, Dave gets rejected again and you also get really sick. Incredibly sick. At three in the morning you wake up feeling like your stomach is folding inside out and you vomit into your nearby trashcan. Repeatedly. 

Dave hears and comes to your room. He brings you a towel and makes you lay on it in case you vomit in your sleep, and then he checks your temperature with that stupid thing that’s supposed to go in your ear and then it clicks loudly against your ear. 100.2. Then he gives you medicine, but you throw that up too and you’re in a cold sweat and you’re scared, but you’re also really nervous and you’re jumping to scary conclusions. What if you’re dying? This is it. This is how you go. In a crummy apartment with and unfinished AI and an unlabeled-maybe-boyfriend-ish. 

You can tell Dave wants to stay, even when you tell him to go to bed so you can try to sleep. But when he’s halfway out the door, you gag and throw up again, but all that comes out is acid. Dave comes back in and sits on the bed with you. 

When you were little you got sick a lot. You supposed it was yet another thing to add to your list of “things wrong with you.” Anxiety, mutism, (maybe autism?) and a shitty as fuck immune system. When you used to have enough money, Dave made you eat a lot of fruit to help fend off viruses, and you were always first in line to get your flu shots and vaccines. It was hard to afford all of that after the car crash though. 

You’re shaking and you’re afraid because your illness (not the puking/fever one right now) makes you scared and worried about a lot of things, but you’re good at not letting that show. You just curl up on your side and stare at your shades on the nightstand while Dave sits next to you and reaches out to touch your hair that is starting to feel sweaty. He begins to stroke your hair, slowly. His fingernails run down your scalp and tuck stray locks behind your ear and then his palm rubs your shoulder and arm, all the things he used to do when you were young and sick. 

You think Dave stays there all night, because every time you wake up from stomach pains and whimper his hand is on your head, or on your back, trying to sooth you. In the morning when the clock reads that it’s five you hear him speaking very softly on the phone telling his boss that you’re really sick and he’s thinking about taking you to the doctor’s and he needs the day off. He couldn’t afford to have the day off with his old jobs. You can’t hear the other end of the conversation but his boss seems very okay with it and Dave says “thank you, I’ll tell him” as if his boss might have told Dave to tell you to get better soon. 

When he hangs up, you’re in a daze. You feel cold, but Dave’s hand on your forehead feels slick and you think you’re covered in sweat. Your stomach really hurts. There’s a loud click in your ear and you think Dave is taking your temperature again. 

He leaves the room and you hate it. You’re fifteen, but you’re also extremely sick and you want your big brother around. He comes back in though, his keys in one hand and your favorite hoodie in the other, your purple hoodie with the heart design on it. After Dave started making good money at the printing company you got to be the normal kid who pointed at things at the mall saying “that looks cool” and then suddenly have your guardian buy it. It didn’t happen often. Dave wasn’t rich. Hell, you weren’t middle class. But you pointed to the hoodie one day and Dave just went with it and bought it right there and then even though it was fifteen dollars and you’ve made it your favorite article of clothing. 

He helps you into it even though you’re suddenly having what you think is a hot flash. His arms slip under you and he mutters things like “Hold on” and “I’ve got you” as he lifts you up into his arms. You want to tell him you can walk but your stomach is still folding and you’re gagging, but Dave has a towel pressed to your chest and some bile comes out on it. 

“I’ve got you,” he says again. 

He puts you in the passenger’s seat and buckles you in and then reclines the seat. He forces you to lay on your side though, in case you continue to puke, and your vision finally clears up and you get a good look at Dave. He’s pale, of course, but he looks pale with fear. You would be absolutely terrified if you found Dave in the condition you’re in right now, and you’re basically his kid, so you understand that he’s scared. 

You close your eyes again and feel him touch your head before he’s driving. The vibration of the engine and the presence next to you is actually relaxing. You know you shouldn’t sleep, but you really can’t help it. 

 

 

When you wake up, you hear muffled voices. You’re not in your bed. You don’t know where you are, but it’s not your home because the smell is all wrong, and that scares you. You hear those muffled voices though, and you recognize Dave’s and that calms you. Then you think you hear Jake. 

“Why did you have him over if you knew your grandmother was sick?” Dave says. 

“She told me after,” Jake retorts. “After she went home.” 

“You know his immune system is shit, he gets colds from walking outside, and then you invited him over to eat food your sick grandmother had touched, sickness from her island, some horribly warped virus.” 

“I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t know, okay?” 

You open your eyes. You’re in a hospital room. Jake is in the doorway and your brother doesn’t seem to be letting him in. You don’t seem to be hooked up on any machines, but you do find a bandage on your elbow, which means a doctor or nurse has most likely shot you up with some sort of drug to help heal you. 

“Bro,” you say.

Dave turns around and looks at you. Jake looks around him and they both meet your eyes. 

“Lay off,” you say. 

Dave sighs visibly but quietly. He steps back and lets Jake in. Jake hesitates before stepping around the man and comes to your bedside. 

“How are you?” he asks more softly. 

“Fine, actually. I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore.” 

“Good. Good. The doctor says you’ll be in tip-top shape soon. You can even go home today.” 

“What was it?” 

“Flu,” Dave answers, still leaning on the wall by the door. “And a cold. And a fever. A bug from the coast. Gramma Jade had it.” 

“Oh.” 

Jake looks so guilty. He reaches onto the bed and holds your hand even when your nervousness makes you want to pull away. You let him hold it and even try to squeeze his hands as he whispers, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. She told me after she left that she was getting over the illness. I had no idea you got sick so easily.”

“Well,” you heave out, “I’m alive, right? That’s good.” 

Jake doesn’t seem to feel better, but he smiles for you and nods. Dave leaves to get some lunch and you and Jake chat a while and you ask him if Jane has talked to him at all. He says yes, but just about normal things. School, cooking, etc. She hasn’t mentioned the conversation you want yet, but you suppose you can wait. Besides, a hospital room isn’t the best spot for it. 

Jake leaves before you’re supposed to go home and then you’re left alone with Dave for a while. He sits next to your bed, mostly writing in his script and doing edits while you watch TV and make the hours pass. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Dave mutters. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, I wasn’t—All the shit we’ve gone through. I didn’t want it all to be worthless because a fucking jungle fever killed you.” 

“Even if I did die, none of it was worthless.”

“Don’t make jokes like that.” 

“Sorry.”

He reaches over, still staring at his script, but runs a hand through your hair before he goes back to editing very quietly. 

After another hour you’re allowed to go home and Dave turns away while you put on your clothes that he had brought from home. He drives you home and he washes your bed sheets and wipes down every single doorknob in the house to make sure any bacteria that you caught is dead and gone forever now. You remind him that you’re unlikely to get the same virus twice after building an immunity but he just yells “BLASPHEMY” and vigorously wipes down the laptop keys. 

That night while you and Dave watch a movie together on the futon you say, “Why were you so rude to Jake?”

He sighs and shrugs. He really doesn’t want to talk about this. “He should have known.”

“You’re being completely irrational,” you say. 

“I was worried about you, all right? Parental anger.”

“Dumb excuse.” 

“I know.” 

There silence for a while. Then he touches your arm and says a sorry. It’s hard to get those out of him sometimes, so you’re satisfied and you both leave it at that before continuing to watch your shitty movie, which was ironically something Jake had suggested. 

 

 

Another week later, Jane and her father go to a cooking contest being held at the local university campus. Jake sends you a pester saying he’d like for you to come over and hang out. Dave is working late that night, so you write him a note on the counter saying you went to Jake’s to help him with some homework.

You don’t know if you’re really going to be doing homework with him, but after what happened at the hospital you felt this stupid need to lie. As if he’d come down to Mr. Crocker’s home and blame Jake for other stupid shit. 

You take the city bus to Jake’s place. When you get there it’s almost like he’s waiting at the door because it opens before you knock. He has chips and snacks on the coffee table and two controllers are sitting attached to his PS4, so you’re pretty glad you came over. 

You spend a good hour playing video games with him and kick his ass almost every time. He’s a competitor and adventurer, so you have to let him win a few times, and you have to make it a believable loss or he’ll be angry at you for not giving it your all, even when losing so much makes him a poor sport. You’d never mention his irrational thought process out loud though. You just focus on the fun of the game and try to remind yourself that you deserve to relax and have a good time after that big scare with the sickness.

Jake pauses the screen eventually and asks if you want to play another game. You shrug and say sure and you both debate on what to play next. His hand is on your leg. Your conversation shifts and you both discuss graduation coming up soon. Hardly a month. His hand is on your thigh. He asks how you’re feeling after being sick and you say that you feel a hell of a lot better and you’re not puking your guts out anymore. He chuckles and his lips touch your ear. You feel incredibly warm, unnaturally, not in pleasure. He doesn’t ask anymore questions so you ask how Jade is doing and he says she’s fine and then he starts kissing you. 

You know how to kiss. You and Jake have kissed a handful of times now and you know how to move your lips and how to tilt your head. You almost kind of enjoy it now, and the kissing part isn’t so scary. When your heart rate isn’t hurting anymore you lift a hand and cup his jaw and then his own hand squeezes your thigh, right on the inside and another is wrapping your waist. 

You practically squeak at this and Jake whispers “Relax” into your ear. You can’t relax. Did you take your pills this morning? 

He’s sucking your ear and under your jaw and down your neck. It feels good, but you’re nervous and you awkwardly lay your hands on his sides as you let him go at it. It’s just your neck and he’s not leaving hickeys and you don’t have to worry about how to move your lips, you only have to worry about sitting there while he does all the work. 

You’re scared he might leave marks though. You’re going to ask him not to, but you’re too nervous to speak. You just stare at the paused screen of the video game and shake. He tells you to relax again. You _can’t._

Then his hand makes the final move, slipping up your thigh, groping you, right in the area that’s only ever been touched by yourself. He squeezes and rubs and your face absolutely _burns_ and none of it is from pleasure. You whimper and he thinks you like it and he keeps touching you and your hands are shaking, all of you is shaking, your eyes hurt. 

You make another noise. It’s a sob. You push on his arm, finally moving. He pulls away and stares at you, his eyes full of lust turning into shock. 

“Dirk? Did I…? What’s wrong?”

You’re crying in front of Jake and you hate yourself. 

“I have to go,” you choke out. 

“Dirk, I’m sorry. I thought you—I won’t do it again, I’m so sorry, please don’t just leave like this.”

You’re standing up and your beating heart is roaring blood through your ears. “I have to go,” you say again, much more broken. 

“Dirk, please! I’m so, so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, we don’t ever have to touch again, just talk to me please.” 

“I’ll text,” you say. 

You pick up your shoes instead of putting them on and rush out the door. Jake follows, and you’re getting irritated rather than scared. When you’re on the front step he grabs your arm, and he knows you don’t like being touched unless you have some sort of a warning first (he always made sure you saw his hand coming towards yours before touching it, almost made sure you saw him leaning in before he kissed you), but this time he just grabs you and you swing around in fear by instinct, striking a palm hard into the middle of his chest. 

After you came out to Dave, he taught you some fighting moves (there were a lot of extreme homophobes in school). Sometimes you guys sword fight with the shitty collection he has (a small collection, he sold his prized swords for money before he got the job at the printing company), but the point is, is that you know where to hit and how to make it stun a person. 

Jake is doubled over, clutching his chest. For a second, you forget about why you were freaking out and you hold his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. 

“I grabbed you,” he wheezes out. “It’s okay.”

“No, oh God, it was instinct, I’m sorry.” 

He takes in a huge breath and rubs his sore chest. He stands up straight and faces you and he remembers your quirks, so he reaches slowly to touch your cheek, but he stops when you shy away and start shaking all over again. 

“Don’t go yet. Tell me what I did… please.” 

“You didn’t—it wasn’t—”

“Just breathe, Dirk. You can tell me.” 

“I didn’t like it,” you say. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—I don’t know. I didn’t like it. I was scared. It felt good, but I was scared, I don’t know.” 

He nods slowly, as if he understands. He doesn’t, but it helps.

“Okay,” he says. “I won’t do it again.” 

You nod back, still panicked. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks. 

You nod. There are tears in your eyes. “I’m not mad at you. It’s not because I want to get away from you or something. I just need to be somewhere that I’m used to and comfortable in. My room. Take a shower in my own shower, ya know? I need to be in my home. And I promise I’ll call you after, okay? I promise.” 

Then he’s nodding. “Okay. I’ll drive you, okay?” 

It’s a very quiet drive to your apartment. Jake doesn’t touch you, but he says nice things. He says Jane tried to explain how anxiety works to him and maybe that was her version of helping rather than just telling him “Dirk wants to be your boyfriend.” It’s nice that he’s trying to understand. But you don’t know if you can be more than friends with Jake, not when he has these physical needs. He’s just not the one. 

He doesn’t kiss you when you leave, but you make sure you hug him. You don’t want him feeling guilty. It’s not his fault at all, it’s your messed up brain. 

When you go inside, Dave is on the futon editing his script again. He has another meeting coming up soon. His eleventh. He says hello and you say nothing and then he looks up and sees your watery eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

You shrug. “Boy stuff.”

“What did he do?”

“Why are you blaming him again?” you say and you almost snap it. 

He’s quiet for a bit and he changes his demeanor. He pats the spot next to him, but you don’t sit. He sighs lightly and speaks in a calm voice, “What’s wrong, kid?” 

“We touched and it sucked,” you say. 

“What? Did he—”

“I said no and he listened and stop, don’t start.” 

“No, I wasn’t saying that. Are you comfortable with being touched by him?” 

“Kind of. Sometimes. Better than most people. It was scary and I panicked. Is that dumb?”

“No,” Dave says immediately. “No, of course not. It makes sense. I’m sorry you felt like that, kid. Do you want to chill?”

“No… I’m just going to shower and call him, all right? Then I’ll go to bed. But I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good luck on your meeting.” 

You turn away and Dave says, “Hold on.” 

You turn back and face him. “What.” 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

He says it so sincerely. He’s genuinely worried and you recognize that worry, it’s the same worry from when you were sick. So you nod to him and give him a soft smile to show you’re thankful for his care and then leave to take your shower. You take a long shower, but not too long, because you both still have to be careful with using water and electricity. 

You call Jake when you’re done. You sit on the bathroom floor with the fan running so Dave won’t hear. He says sorry again, many times, and you keep telling him it’s okay. Everything is okay when you both hang up. You say goodnight and he says goodnight too, and then you finish getting dressed and go out to join Dave on the futon while he edits. 

He’s quiet and you’re quiet. You stare at him and he ignores you, giving you your space. He crosses out some words on the paper and writes something new and then glances at the laptop that’s open on the coffee table so that he can edit it there. You look at the way he focuses on the paper and the way he quirks his lips to one side and the way his eyebrows narrow when he comes to a part that he’s stuck on. 

You look at the blank TV. Then you put your head on his shoulder. You’re fifteen and you shouldn’t be cuddling with your older brother, but you have completely restricted yourself from physical contact these last two years, and your head on his shoulder is the nicest thing you’ve felt in a while, especially after what happened at the Crocker house with Jake. 

In a whisper, you make suggestions for his script and he listens to everything you say, making the changes with his pen and having quiet discussions with you on how a different idea might be better. His arm hangs around the back of the futon, his fingers occasionally brushing against your hair. You’re staring at him again. His thumb brushes over the white scar on your forehead. 

 

 

Your seventh birthday is still the greatest day of your life, but your graduation is a close second. It’s an amazing day. You and Jake and Jane all go out for lunch and talk about the greatest teachers and the stupidest things that happened in your school. 

Gramma Jade, Mr. Crocker and Dave all sit together in the bleachers taking millions of pictures. When you exit the hall and enter the gym in the single file line you hear your stupid as hell brother yell out, “THAT’S MY KID!” You glare at him and he grins and snaps his hundredth pictures of you with his favorite Powershot Canon camera. 

You sit with Jake on your left and Jane on your right with all the other students. It’s an hour of speeches by other students, and when Jane makes one you and Jake cheer the loudest. She looks so gorgeous in her tie under her gown and her blue eyes are practically shining when her gaze catches yours and she smiles at you.

You get in line after that. Jake goes first. His name is read over the loud speaker and your little group of parents start cheering. Then your name is loudly announced. You took two pills today, so you’re feeling good and not terrified as you walk across the stage and shake hands with people you don’t know and then grab your diploma. Then you pause to get your picture taken and rejoin your friends. 

Dave cheers so loud that you flashback to the day you won the science fair. He has to let everyone know how proud he is. 

When the graduation is over, you head outside and you get a huge hug from Gramma Jade and then you and Jake and Jane and other friends all pose for more and more pictures. You’re feeling so good that you’re hugging everyone. Jake holds you a long time and you hug Jane and when the sun goes down you head home with Dave, only when the packed parking lot finally clears out. 

You’re talking and talking for once in your life, just talking constantly about what a good day you’re having. 

Then Dave says, “I’m proud.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, then shakes his head a little. “I’m so proud of you, Dirk. I was always worried I wasn’t doing enough for you, but you’re fifteen and you’re graduated and I’m just… I’m so fucking proud of you. I really am.” 

You look over at him and you’re glad it’s getting dark because your cheeks are warm. You smile and look forward again. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you to raise me. I mean that. This is your day too.”

Then you hear him sniffling and you look out the window and pretend not to notice for him. 

When you get home he gives you a hug before you get out of the car because he’s got a last minute meeting (he’s been rejected seventeen times now). You go inside and shed your gown and hat and are still feeling amazingly well. 

The reason this isn’t the best day of your life is because Jake calls. You answer the phone, still excited. “Hey, Tarzan. Miss me already?” 

And then Jake tells you that he’s going back to the island with his grandmother. He’s a graduate and he wants to do studies there and she’s getting older with health problems and he wants to take care of her while also being at the place he loves the most.

There’s a tear running down your face but you tell him you want to say goodbye to him tomorrow and he says he can swing by and visit and that he’d love to see you one more time. You both promise to call and keep in touch. He tells you he really, really likes you and you tell him you really like him too, but it’s mutually agreed that a romantic relationship just isn’t for you guys. 

It’s mature and polite and he even makes you laugh a few times during the call. Then you say goodnight and you both hang up. 

An hour later, you’re on the kitchen floor with a tub of ice cream between your legs. The breakup of your unlabeled relationship still hurts a lot. You almost cry once, but you keep eating the chocolate and vanilla until you get a brain freeze. 

Then the front door opens. Dave is home. 

“Oh. My. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!”

You jump from the screaming. Your eyes are wide as Dave leaps over the island counter completely and lands with a ground-shaking slam in front of you. 

“GUESS WHO’S GETTING A MOVIE?” he yells, then throws his heavy script into the floor with one heavy thump. 

You’re not sad suddenly. You shove the ice cream away and jump to your feet. “Are you fucking serious?” 

He just yells nonsense, wraps his arms around you, and starts spinning you in circles. You’re screaming with him while he keeps yelling, “WE’RE RICH, WE’RE RICH, WE’RE RICH!” Then he slips on the spoon that’s been left on the floor and you both fall and you slam down onto Dave’s chest. He groans, but then he’s laughing loudly. You roll off of him and you both lay on your shitty kitchen floor, panting with smiles and staring at the ceiling. 

Then he speaks very gently: “What’s wrong?” 

“Jake’s leaving,” you say honestly. “For his island again.”

He reaches over and pats a hand on your chest. “I’m sorry, kiddo.” 

“Thanks.” You sigh and roll your head to the side to look at him. “What made them say yes?”

“I did what you said. Sent them the script and didn’t talk about my background. You’re a genius, kid.”

“I know. I’m proud of you too, by the way.” 

“Thank you. A lot.” 

You both lay in silence, staring at the ceiling. The kitchen floor is chilly against your back now. You can see the tassel of your graduation cap hanging off of the edge of the counter. You touch the tub of ice cream that’s freezing against your fingertips, the edges and top most likely melting by now. 

“Dirk,” your brother whispers. 

“Hm.”

“Would you like to move to L.A.?”

You make a face as if you’re thinking, but you already know the answer. “Yes,” you say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I edited it really fast so I'm sorry if there's tons of typos and weird wording. Can't wait to hear thoughts and I'm excited to get to the next chapter~ If you have any questions you can go ahead in the comments or bug me at my tumblr (plajus) where I also post updates. c:


	5. Chapter 5

You are Dave Strider and your new home is amazing. You and your brother have a washer and dryer again, you each have your own rooms and your room even has its own bathroom connected to it. The kitchen is big and the stainless steel of the fridge just screams money, and there’s even a balcony that gives a beautiful view of L.A. along with the building’s public pool down below. 

You have a real closet for your clothes now rather than shoving your outfits and uniforms down under the futon. There’s a real wide-screen TV rather than the small one you used to have. You and Dirk spent the first five minutes in the top floor apartment just screaming and running through the hallways and then attacked each other back in the living room still screaming about how big and fancy everything is.

Dirk comes with you the first time you get to check out the sets you’ll be using for the movie. One is a large warehouse that is already being filled with props and the men and women who will be helping you (hell, you’ve never gotten this far, never thought you’d get this far) show you around the place and explain how they see things panning out. 

At one point your co-director explains his image of one of your scenes. Which is exactly the opposite of what you want. It’s a horrible idea. Dirk’s knuckle digs into your back, trying to tell you to speak up for yourself, and you do. You clear your throat, even if you’re the noob here who’s only just arrived in Hollywood and you tell the co-director how you’d rather see the scene play out. The group of hella important producers and whatnot all pause and then nod in agreement and you sigh in relief. 

You and Dirk go shopping and you’re not staring at price tags and you’re not sifting through coupons in your pockets and checking your bank account. You yank cans of soda off the shelves, chips, Chinese food dinners, fries, Lunchables, sausage, apple juice, Sunny D, Hot Pockets, pizzas, so many pizzas. Dirk turns and holds up his own choices of food and you just nod and tell him to chuck them in the cart. 

Your fridge has never been so full. You have cable now and Dirk is astonished by all the channels and he spends an hour watching How It’s Made in an intrigued dazed. You both play on your brand new Wii U and fall asleep with Dorito dust on your clothes, flat soft drinks on the coffee table, and your limbs flopped on each other as you’re splayed across the large couch. 

 

 

When casting time comes, Dirk comes with again. Because you were the one rusty writer chosen out of a mass of experienced writers, you tend to lean towards the actors who have never acted before. Dirk tells you that you need big names if you want to go big, and all other side characters need to be fresh faces. 

You go with Wilson and Stiller. 

You can’t believe you even _met_ them. Dirk spends the whole time biting his lips together, trying not to make any noises as the celebrities chat so casually with you. You pretend you’ve met tons of celebrities before and play it cool. You’re fangirling inside, this is the craziest shit ever. 

You’re silent when you leave to go home that night. So is Dirk. You both take a taxi and you’re both equally quiet. You close the door. 

Then Dirk blurts, “Oh my _God!_ ” 

“Right?!” you yell right back. 

The taxi driver just flinches. 

 

It’s a lot of editing and meeting with actors and setting up scenes and doing read throughs. You’re gone all day, but you hang out with Dirk the moment you get home. He’s been making a lot of blueprints lately and also doing some weird mechanics with his shades. He’s been placing tiny chips and wires inside. You don’t get it, but you know it’ll be awesome.

Dirk seems to be adjusting well to the new life. It wasn’t just a new neighborhood, it’s truly a new life. Having the money is a huge difference and having food is a big difference. You’re a busy person, but you still have a bit of time to yourself and a day off often enough, and for once you actually _enjoy_ what you do. 

You’ve been doing nothing but work six days in a row now. You’ve been living in L.A. for two and a half months now. You get to work at eight and come home at eight. You’re tired as you unlock the apartment door (this one has a keypad, not a rusty knob that you have to jerk a few times to unlock) and walk in. There’s a table next to the door, the key bowl Dirk made you nine years ago sitting there and you leave your wallet and keys there. 

Dirk is on the floor with big blue papers spread out. He has a pencil in his mouth, a marker in his hand, and three calculators sitting around him. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Hey,” he says, but his voice is muffled by the pencil. He spits it out, speaking clearly now. “Good day?” 

“Yeah. Hired some makeup artists today. I think I even met one of those dudes that competed in Face Off.”

“Nice.” 

“What’ve you been doing? What’s this get up?” 

“Blue prints for a project.”

“For you?”

“Oh, no. I put something up online for the hell of it. ‘Expert coder/engineer/mechanic/anything metal offering to build you whatever the fuck you want for moolah.’”

“Whoa, and you got responses?”

“Lots. But after I weeded out the guys who wanted bombs and sex machines there were really only two actual good requests, so I’m working on those.” 

“Nice. Makin’ good money for it?”

“Hell yeah.”

You nod and head into kitchen to eat. You grab fruit snacks and go back to Dirk, sitting quietly beside him to watch him draw out his plans even if you have no idea what any of it means. There’s a lot of numbers and curves, but besides that it’s foreign. Because of that you feel all the prouder of him. 

You reach over, messing with his hair once. “Chinese takeout and bad reality shows?” 

He nods and smiles. 

 

 

Dirk comes with you to the set every once in a while. He’s not going to college right now, even if you have the money for it. He’s rather focusing on his little business of building things for people for money, or at least completing the blueprints and mailing them off. He’s not making as much as you obviously, but he’s doing well and he seems satisfied.

On the days he comes he sometimes takes an extra pill. He sits in the chair with your name on it, holds a knee to his chest, and just watches. When you first started this movie you would let your co-director do a lot of the work while you pretended to know what you were doing, but by now it’s completely natural. You’re not sure if your co-director totally likes that, but you did write this entire movie, so he can back off and relax.

You like to show off for Dirk. You like to yell cut and you like to step in and show your actors how you want something done and you also love to praise them when they get the scene done perfectly. You can’t have all your employees hating you. Dirk isn’t always watching necessarily, sometimes he’s on his new 3DS that you could actually afford for him, but he enjoys coming anyway though, and he’s always talking to you when you have at least five minutes of break time. 

Eventually his birthday and yours come around and Dirk comes to work with you. He’s sixteen now and you’re twenty-nine and you finish filming early and you take your little brother home so that he can change. You’ve both gone to a tailor recently to get fitted suits and you plan on taking Dirk to his first five star restaurant and showering him in all the gifts he’s ever deserved. 

You’ve already put your suit on and you’re tying your tie in a hallway mirror when Dirk comes out of his room. His suit is black, but he has an orange vest underneath. His tie is really askew, though. You chuckle at him and you can see his eyes roll, even under his shades. 

“Never done this before,” he grumbles, pulling his tie undone.

“C’mere.”

He stands in front of you and sighs as you reach out to flip his collar up and balance the ends of the tie correctly before beginning to do the right crosses and twists and knots. Your shades are on too, but you can barely see the outline of Dirk’s eyes right now and you can imagine him in this suit without the shades on. He’s incredibly handsome. He’s always been a gorgeous kid, but after puberty he became purely handsome and he’s growing up so well and you know it’s probably weird that you’re thinking this, but you’re safe in your thoughts. 

You smooth the tie down his chest and tuck it behind his vest. 

“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft. 

You nod and step back to look over the whole suit and tease, “Damn, don’t know how I’m gonna keep those waiters off of you.”

“Fuckin’ dork,” he laughs, shoving your shoulder as he walks by. 

You laugh with him and grab your phone and wallet and keys before leaving the apartment with Dirk. Recently you’ve gotten a new car, a lovely and shining red with tinted black windows. Your old car’s breaks used to jerk and the radio didn’t work if it was cold out overnight and two of the windows didn’t go down, so it got unbelievably hot during the summer. Now you’re riding in complete style.

Dirk leans his head out the window on the way there, and you love that look of awe on his face as you both drive through the main streets of the city at night. He’s kind of precious like that. 

A man in a vest parks your car for you and Dirk still looks impressed by everything, most of his expression hidden behind his shades. But you know him well enough. You cut past a line of people and give a simple “Strider” to the hostess and she nods, leading you back through the restaurant that’s lined with candles and chandeliers and people dressed in suits and gowns. 

“We eating in the kitchen or something?” Dirk mutters to you as the hostess leads you past all the tables that are already full. 

You shake your head with a smile. You both finally stop walking when you’re lead to an isolated and private booth where the rest of the restaurant is only soft chatter in the background. Dirk gives you an impressed look, but it’s a teasing look as he sits down across from you. You order a ten dollar glass of wine and Dirk goes for Fanta orange soda, and then he ignores the way you snort at him. 

When the hostess is gone, he takes off his shades and so do you. The lighting here is already dim enough. 

“This is insane,” he says. “Ellen fucking DeGeneres probably takes her wife to places like this.”

“This is not a lesbian date, kid,” you say. 

“Come on, dude. For real. When we’re done here that bill is going to be up into the hundreds. Look at this menu. Look at this menu, Bro. What do you see here?” He’s pointing to a drink on the menu and you look forward to read it. 

“It’s wine,” you say. 

“ _Eight hundred dollar whine_.” 

You chuckle at him, flipping through your menu. “Good thing you’re not old enough to order that then.” 

“Maybe not, but I could always get this hundred dollar steak and shrimp here. Christ, what makes it that expensive? Did Zac Efron piss on it?”

“If he did, would you eat it?” 

He pouts his lip and thinks for a while, looking towards the ceiling. Then he meets your eyes and nods, flipping the page. “Yeah.” 

“You’re gross.”

“You’re gross.” 

He’s grinning and you’re grinning too. You remind Dirk that there really is no price limit on what he wants tonight. When the hostess comes back you put your shades back on and Dirk just keeps his head lowered as you both order what you want. You get a steak with a lot of fancy sides (no way in hell are you going to try and repeat all the weirdass words in the menu, so you just hold the menu up and point at what you want for the waitress. Dirk does the same). Then the lovely lady leaves with such a polite smile. 

You’re looking at the wood of the table that’s flawless, along with the fabric on your seat when Dirk suddenly says, “Better than Dollar Tree, huh?” 

You know he means it as a joke, but you’re frowning. You do your best to give some sort of a smile, a snort that’s supposed to be a laugh, but it’s weak. 

“What,” he says. 

“Nothin’.” 

“I didn’t hate it.”

“What?”

“Our old birthdays. When you got me one little thing and then took me to Dollar Tree and told me to pick out any five items, or four. I didn’t mind. It was fun. I was just making a joke, man. Those birthdays were always the best because we always had fun picking out those items and hanging out at home. I’ve never had a bad birthday in my life.” 

You push your shades up on top of your head and Dirk meets your eyes without nervousness or backing down. He looks just a little jumpy (his anxiety makes heartfelt moments hard) but he’s just staring at you and you know then that he means every word. 

“I needed to hear that,” you admit in a gentle voice, scared someone might hear. “I loved seeing you happy, but I always felt shitty after. You deserved so much more and I took you to fucking _Dollar Tree_. It was a horrible feeling.”

“You did the best you could and I know that.” 

You look down at the table, away from his eyes now, but you do reach over and put your hand over his on the table. You give a single squeeze before pulling away again. “Thank you, kid.”

He nods and after some silence the topic changes. You both talk about the movie and you chat about how you have an interview for a magazine coming up soon and you promise Dirk that you’ll do your best not to talk about him in it. It’s been mutually agreed that you’d do your best to keep Dirk out of the media. 

When your food comes, Dirk practically groans from the taste. Neither of you can hold a conversation when you’re so focused on the food. Then you both challenge each other to eat from the plate of snails without throwing up, and Dirk ends up gagging once and you get mini-vomit in your throat, but you both hold it all down. 

To get rid of the gross taste you order sorbet to share with Dirk since neither of you could eat a whole scoop on your own. You finish your wine and hand over your keys to Dirk since it was pretty strong. He looks way too excited to drive the fancy car now.

You leave a very high tip, just because you can now, and put your shades back down. Your hand rests on Dirk’s back as you lead him from the restaurant, but he’s just whining and complaining that he’s too full to drive and you’re too buzzed to drive so you both should just sleep under a bench for the night. You call him stupid and make him get into the driver’s seat. He puts down the sun roof and you both are in quiet happiness. 

You give Dirk a new iPhone for his birthday, which he loves. He spends a lot of time that night playing with it and getting new apps. He gives you a new pair of shades for your birthday, and they look just like the ones you already have, but he shows you a few tiny buttons and lights on the edges of the aviators’ arm and explains that it can be used to answer calls. You hug him and ruffle up his hair until he’s whining and calling you an embarrassment. 

You pop in Lion King and shed all of the tight pieces of your suit until you’re in slacks and a T-shirt. Dirk does the same and eventually leaves his new phone alone and joins you on the couch, both of you rubbing your bulging stomachs. 

“Maybe the snails are actually alive,” Dirk mutters, “and they’re swimming around in us.” 

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting.” 

He laughs, but it’s tired and soft. He leans into your side and your arm is over the back of the couch, so he’s nestled in against your ribs. You look over at him, but his eyes are starting to close. You stare and touch his hair that’s soft. You glance down his body, realizing just how grown up he’s becoming, and then look at his pale face again. His eyes are fully closed now. 

You hope he’s asleep as you lower your head and press a slow kiss to his head. Then you lay your own head back and sleep with him. 

 

 

Editing goes amazingly well. You oversee it all. You point over shoulders to make suggestions and when the experts say no, you listen. They’re the one with the degrees and you know when to step back and stay in your lane. Because of this, you’ve earned mass respect by cast and crew. They know when to obey and listen to you and they know when they can speak up for themselves too. 

In the middle of the editing phase, your co-director quits. You don’t know why he’d quit this early though. He calls your movie a joke as if it’s an insult, but all you did was shrug and say “Yes, it is a joke.”

So now you’re a lone director. You’re even busier because of that, but you’re doing your best to still be at home with your kid when you have the time. He seems to be doing fine, though. He comes with you to work a little less, but he still enjoys doing it, and he tells you that when he’s lonely he’ll make FaceTime calls with Roxy, Jake or Jane. He’s almost done with his impressive AI too, and every time he shows you testing of it you’re completely in shock. You just don’t understand how his brain can think this stuff up.

And then, for the first time in years, you… get lucky.

She’s one of your cast member’s assistant. Mary, you think. Marie? Mmm… arge. 

Point is, after a good night on set, one of your actors said he was going out for a few drinks with the others and invited you along. The assistant came with, and after a few drinks she was all over you. Honestly, all she talked about was how amazing you are. Not because of the movie, no. Because you had dead parents and a kid. She fetishized your sad backstory. 

You didn’t care though. She took you to her place and you let her do most of the work, practically ripping your suit off and climbing on you. She was a pretty girl, and you say girl because she looked young, but you know she’s over twenty-one due to her drinking at the bar. 

She was rough. Scratched and bit. She straddled you and she almost didn’t let you use a condom until you swore at her and she backed off long enough for you to slip one on. You were nervous the whole time and you continued to let her do all the work while you laid there and held her hips and groaned.

In the morning she offers you coffee and you admit that you don’t know what you’re doing and you feel kind of nervous and Mary/Marie/Marge grabs at you and tells you she can take care of you forever and tries to kiss you, but with a lot of wordy lies you’re able to slip your way out of her house and drive home as quickly as you can without being pulled over. 

It’s not that the sex wasn’t good, it’s just that it’s been a long time. And the girl wasn’t exactly good at it. Dirk asks you what’s wrong when you enter the apartment and you just say “Girls” for now, even if Mary/Marie/Marge is the only crazy one you’ve met so far, and then Dirk says, “Come to the dark side. We have boys.” 

You scoff and go to the kitchen to get some breakfast. Dirk is working on his shades in the living room and you watch him. Then you blurt, “Oh my God, her name was Maggie.” 

 

For the first time since you’ve been in L.A. you get recognized by a fan. You’re grocery shopping with Dirk on a Sunday afternoon, both of you arguing over what type of pizza to get in the freezer section when Dirk blurts, “You’re rich, get them both!”

“Oh yeah,” you say. 

He smirks and throws the food in the cart. That’s when two young women approach, looking extremely awkward. You glance once, twice, then realize that they’re staring at you and you face them, waiting for an explanation for their creepiness. 

One of the women squeezes the hand of the other, her voice squeaking only once as she says, “Are you Dave Strider?” 

“Yessss…” 

“Told you!” she hisses to her friend. Then she’s facing you again. “We saw your interview on TMZ. And all the trailers. We’re so excited for your movie.”

You break into a smooth smile and thank them both, because the fact that they’re excited is definitely a compliment. Dirk stays next to the cart, his fingers twisting around the handle awkwardly, but you know it’s not because he’s being ignored but rather that he’s just anxious about being around strangers in general. 

You take a selfie with the two girls and shake their hands and wish them a good day. Then you join Dirk again and he keeps a hand on the cart near you since he can’t hold your hand like he did when he was a child and he needs some type of close contact to stay relaxed.

“That was cool,” he says. “First time?”

“Yeah. That was cool as shit, wow.”

“Wait until they cry in disappointment when they see your shit movie.” 

You snort and whap the back of his head. 

The closer the release date for the movie comes, the more you’re recognized. It’s not too often, and sometimes they don’t approach you, you just see a kid or someone at the store staring for a long time and then pulling their phones out as if they’re trying to search for a picture of you to make sure it’s really you. 

You’re doing more interviews now. You get a slot on the Today show and get to meet Al Roker, a moment you’ll never forget. Apparently it’s your background that’s been making you famous. For half of your interview you’re asked about your movie and your relationship with the cast and crew and where the storyline comes from. Then you’re asked about how you came into writing and directing, where you come from. 

You promised Dirk you wouldn’t involve him in media, and you do your best to not mention his name. You talk about losing your parents in high school and raising your little brother. You don’t want this sad backstory to be the reason you’re recognized though, and you always try and mention that your little brother was raising you too in a way. It’s a miracle you’ve both made it this far and it wouldn’t be real without good ol’ hard work. You don’t want to be viewed as some hero. You want to be seen for your talents and you want people to enjoy the talent rather than focus on you more than the movie. 

For some reason, the selflessness makes you more liked. You’re not complaining. 

All the final touches of production are being worked on. The release date is a month away and you’ve been busier than hell. You work until after midnight and then sleep in a motel less than a mile from work so that you can get there by six in the morning again. You’ve been so, so tired, something you haven’t felt since you were younger and working two full time jobs so you could support Dirk. 

But you’re not depressed at this job. You’re tired though. 

Right now it’s two in the morning and you’ve dumped your stuff on one of the queen beds in the motel and you’ve dumped yourself on the second bed. You used your toes to kick your shoes off, hearing them thump to the floor. You undo your jacket, but you’re too lazy to really slip it off and toss it aside. 

Your phone is ringing. It’s so loud compared to the quietness of the motel. Then again, you think you hear more than two people fucking a few rooms down. You plan on ignoring the call, but it might be work. But the caller ID says “gay robot.” It was Dirk’s idea to make that his name in your phone. 

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes closing. 

“Hey,” Dirk says. “You sound dead.”

“Pretty much. Almost there though. Sorry I didn’t make it home again.”

“Sorry is enough. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Promise.” 

“Good.” 

It’s quiet. This bed smells kind of funny. You miss your own bed. You miss the couch at the apartment with Dirk beside you. Dirk has always smelt good, a hundred times better than the smell of this bed. You’ve been thinking things like that a lot lately. 

“I finished my AI,” Dirk says, and even though he seems tired too, you can hear this sudden enthusiasm in his voice and it makes you smile fondly.

“Yeah? That’s awesome, kid. I swear I’ll make it home tomorrow, I wanna see that thing really work. Better than Cleverbot, right?”

“Anything I’ve ever made has been better than Cleverbot. It all works perfectly, man. It understands context. Word context and situation context. And it’s learning new stuff based on what I’ve said, it’s self-developing.” 

“Shit,” you sigh out. “Shit, kid, I can’t even—that shit is just way too impressive. Honestly, I’m going to have to change your name and hide you so that the government doesn’t snatch you away and make you build weapons.” 

He chuckles a bit. He’s quiet for a few moments. Then he says, “I saw you on Entertainment Tonight.” 

“Oh, yeah. That was a weird interview, huh?”

“Yeah. You almost said my name.”

“I know. Covered it up real quick, though. Sometimes I just get excited to talk about you rather than me. Sometimes I just wanna gesture to you rather than the movie and say ‘look at this genius you bitches. Stop staring at my shit characters and look at the little genius.’” 

“Don’t worry. Got enough people begging for my shit online. Shipped off another robot today. Made five hundred bucks.” 

“I think I made a good thousand today.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

You laugh a bit, stretching out on the bed. “Kidding. Good for you, kiddo. Been thinking about college at all?” 

“I dunno.” You can’t see him, but you can sense that he’s shrugging. “I’m really enjoying making these commissions. It keeps me busy and I can expand my knowledge and I’ve been researching by myself. I don’t want to live in the dorms. I don’t want to live with a roommate I don’t know, and I don’t want all that frustrating homework again. I guess… I’m just happy being at home and doing what I’m doing. Is… is that okay?”

You smirk lightly to yourself because it’s cute that he wants your approval. You feel good right now, even past the exhaustion and nervousness about the movie and about all your work. Talking to Dirk feels good. Until he was born, you’ve felt a separation from the rest of the world, even from people like John and Rose. Dirk is the only thing constant and one hundred percent trustworthy in your life.

“That’s fine,” you say. You feel warm and good. “Do what makes you happy, kid. I’ve got your back.” 

“Thank you, Bro.”

“Yeah. Come to my premiere with me.” 

“What? Like… like on the carpet in a suit with cameras and fans all over?” 

“Yeah. I’ll be with you. But you’ve been with me this whole time and it’d be rockin’ as all hell if you came with me. I really want you to see it.”

He doesn’t say anything and you know it’s not because he doesn’t want to go. It’s because he’s afraid of the cameras, of the loud noise, of all the strangers. If he says no, you have a right to be sad, but you’ll support him. You would never want him to be more uncomfortable than he has to be. 

“I’d love to come,” Dirk mutters. 

“Good. It’ll be great.”

“I know. You sound tired as shit. Have dumb dreams and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Mmhm. Talk to you tomorrow. ‘Night, kiddo.” 

“Goodnight, Bro.”

You hang up the phone with a satisfied smile and fall asleep still holding it next to your head. 

 

 

Dirk’s AI is amazing and it’s a million times better than Cleverbot. He’s been working on this since he was eleven and you feel like an excited child when he lets you talk to the thing on his computer. He calls it AR and it’s like talking to a real person. It’s aware of your existence and humanity and it’s also aware that it’s not human. Either that, or it’s only programmed to say it.

You hug Dirk around his shoulders and tell him it’s the coolest shit and that you’re proud as hell of him. You both take turns conversing with the AI and Dirk seems to freak out when AR says that it would prefer he and him pronouns. Dirk says he didn’t program him with that type of identity, so it’s already becoming self-aware like he wanted. You love seeing him so happy and excited about his work. 

You stay home for a few weeks since the release date is so close. You spend your nights ordering take out and watching movies or playing video games with your brother. On a Saturday night, John calls you and says he’s doing a show in town and he’d love for you and your brother to come down. You haven’t seen him in a year, but you’ve kept in contact with him. 

You get a ticket for a close up seat and spend an hour watching your best friend crack the dumbest (but admittedly hilarious) jokes on stage. He spots you and Dirk in the audience and waves at one point and you give him the finger. 

When the show is over you spend the night with John at a bar. Dirk comes along, but he of course only drinks soda. It takes him a good fifteen minutes to warm up to being around John again and start speaking, but when he does he begins to beam and rant about his AI and John listens with interest, even if he doesn’t know what Dirk is talking about with his big words. You and John both get pretty buzzed so Dirk drives you both home and John stays for the night and sleeps on your couch, only after walking around and admiring your fancy home.

Dirk goes to bed soon after you get home and you spend another hour hanging out with John on the couch. His hair has gotten messier and he’s rocking a gross blue bowtie, but somehow he’s really pulling it off.

“Did your glasses get thicker?” you ask. 

“Did your shades get darker?” John retorts. “Hey, at least your home is nicer.” 

You scoff and look around the place. There’s a large poster for you movie hanging framed on the wall with signatures from almost all of your cast and crew. It’s definitely much better than where you used to live, and even better than your parents’ old home. 

“Looks like we all turned out all right,” John says. 

“Yeah. You know, everyone but you.” 

He elbows you in the gut and you lose your breath, but you grin at him. 

“Got anyone special?” you ask. 

He shakes his head. “Tried a few dates. Pretty positive I’m aro. I just kinda like telling jokes. I’m dating humor, Dave. We’re exclusive.” 

“How romantic. I’d love to come to your anniversary. I’ll bake a pie. Throw it in your face.”

“Oh, fitting. And you, loser? Did you find anyone strong enough to put up with your ironic ass, or is Dirk the only one who can stand being near you for more than a day without having an imploded skull?” 

You chuckle, but you take a few moments to think about it. You’ve haven’t had a real relationship in almost forever. You and John had a little something when you were fifteen, but it was purely online and only some flirting until you both agreed that being friends was better. You haven’t thought about that in a long time. 

John was only joking, but the more you think about it the more you agree that Dirk’s the only one who gets you truly. What you say in interviews is true. He helped raise you too. 

“Nah, no one,” you finally admit. “Been busy with the movie. Just a one night stand once, I guess.” 

John is looking at your poster at the mention of the movie. Then his voice is soft rather than joking. “I remember when you called me back then. After the car crash.” 

“I remember too.” 

“My dad and I were going to offer you to come up to Washington to live with us. You kept saying you were doing fine, kept saying you had to stay and take care of Dirk.” 

“Well, I did, didn’t I?” 

“You sucked at accepting help.”

“Did not.”

“Yes, you did.” 

“Loser, go to sleep.” 

“Loser… Fine.”

You chuckle and say your goodnights and go to bed. You slip into sweatpants and brush your teeth and wash your face and make sure to stop at Dirk’s room on your way to your own. You peek in and see your brother asleep on his bed, but his shades are still on, the middle digging into the bridge of his nose. You walk in slowly and slip the shades off to set them on his nightstand. 

“Hey,” he whispers, his eyes still closed. “Creep.”

“Your shades were slicing your nose apart.”

“It’s called fashion,” he slurs, “look it up.”

“You got it. Goodnight.”

He mumbles a goodnight and rolls over. You smiles and stroke a hand down his hair before going to your own bed for the night. 

You are good at accepting help. You’ve accepted every bit of help your little brother has ever had to offer. No one else sees that consistent and necessary part of your life.

 

 

You’re fixing Dirk’s tie. He still sucks at tying them, even if he is a prodigy. He stands close to you as you slip the end of the tie down through the right loop and pull it tight around his neck and then give it a tug so that it’s not blocking his airway. 

“Take your pill?” you ask.

He nods. He took two that morning and another one recently. You want him as calm as possible for the premiere. 

Dirk’s hand suddenly touches your wrist while you finish with his orange tie. You pause and look at him and he lightly squeezes on the cuff of your shirt, this thumb rubbing over the shiny cufflinks. You watch his expression, trying to read what’s wrong. 

“Scared?” you ask. 

“Gonna be a lot of people.”

“I’ll be right there. You’re still a minor and I’ve requested that pictures of you stay out of the media. I haven’t mentioned your name.”

“No, I know. Even so, a picture or two leaked won’t destroy me. Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.” 

“I know. But it means a lot that you’re coming.” 

He nods and lets go of your sleeve, his nerves hopefully calmed. He stays still as you try to fix his hair a little, but it already looks pretty good, the back lifted in natural, soft spikes. You get your wallet and phone, leaving your keys behind since you’ve got a limo coming. You rest an arm around Dirk’s shoulders and ask him if he has everything he needs and when he nods you both exit the apartment for the night and take a satisfyingly quiet ride down the elevator. 

Dirk is definitely impressed by the limo. You let him in first and then climb in behind him, watching him look around and press random buttons. The lighting in the back changes and the wall between you and the driver moves up and down and the music turns off and on. 

“Are you done yet?” you tease. 

He puts his hands in his lap with a sorry, but he’s grinning. He looks out the tinted windows a few times, but he seems more mesmerized by the buttons and technology in the limousine. You let him go back to poking things because if he’s not worrying about the premiere then you’re more relaxed too. 

He stops messing with the windows when he hears the sound. The cheering, the chatter. He sits up, pulling his shades down to sit on his nose as he gazes out the window. The event is much smaller than any red carpet event, but there’s still a good crowd going. Fans are behind red ropes and there are security guards lined up along the rope and there are hundreds of cameras. 

“Shit,” Dirk sighs out. 

You reach over, your hand resting on the back of his neck where you gently give him a squeeze and rub there. “I’m right next to you. We’re going to walk straight down that aisle there. I’ll sign some stuff, take some pictures, pause for the press. It’ll take less than five minutes to get inside the building. I promise. You can go right in if you want.” 

He shakes his head no. The limo comes to a slow stop in front of the aisle where another man in a suit is already heading over to open the door for you. Dirk is squeezing your sleeve. Before you step out you turn and smile at him and mutter a thank you for coming. Dirk smiles back, and that’s all you need to relax, too. 

You step out and button the front of your suit jacket and that’s when people are screaming. A reporter somewhere is talking loudly into a camera about how the director and writer has just shown up with a guest. 

You keep an eye on Dirk rather than the crowd. He steps out and he stands next to you, very close, and he looks like he’s terrified. But at the same time he’s in awe again. He’s looking around, perhaps smiling as he smooths a hand down his chest to hide his nervous and stuttering breathing. You pat his back lightly. 

“It’s okay. Come on.” 

He nods and follows you while you play into your role of newly famous director and screenplay writer. You move to the edge of the ropes to shake hands and sign journals with a red marker you keep on you and then lean down to get into the frame of selfies on their phones. Dirk hangs back, watching. He tries not to look too awkward, and you try not to keep him standing there for too long. 

“Doing all right?” you ask when you approach him again. 

He nods, his arm brushing against yours. You move to another section along the rope and pose for more selfies and autograph more papers. You shake hands and pray there’s hand sanitizer inside. 

There’s a white wall full of logos of companies that helped produce the movie and paid you to get their logo up there in the first place. Your hand is lying on Dirk’s back again as you stand in front of it and face all the cameras that represent different magazines and blogs and entertainment shows. You do a few different poses, the way your agent told you too because it’s what’s expected out of posing celebrities. You look towards different cameras and are thankful for your shades and Dirk’s because of all the blinding flashes that don’t seem to stop. 

Then your hand is on Dirk’s back again, leading him forward. You’re so close to the front doors of the building. You see friends from the cast and crew standing at the entrance and inside and you wave to a few, but before you can really join them you’re stopped by a woman with a microphone questioning if she can ask you a few questions. 

“Go inside,” you mutter to Dirk, pushing on his back. “I’ll only be one minute.” 

He nods and walks away and you can tell he’s trying not to hug himself. You force yourself to look away and smile for the reporter who asks who your guest is. You say it’s your brother, but you don’t mention his name. She asks how you feel right now and you say you’re happy, you’re in shock, you’re in the best years of your life, all that stuff you’re supposed to say and all the stuff that’s completely true. You know she has way more than one question, but you thank her and shake her hand and leave. 

You get inside where a high chandelier hangs and candles flicker on the walls and everyone you’ve worked with over the past year are waiting. You find one of your main assistants and speak into her ear, wondering if she’s seen Dirk. She points around a hall. 

You have to avoid getting sucked into conversations as you pass through the crowd. You turn around the hallway but see no one. You walk down the empty hallway, the lights dimmer the farther back you travel, passing empty meeting rooms since the whole building was bought out for this event alone. 

After turning another hallway corner you find your brother. He’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, hyperventilating. This isn’t his first panic attack. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say softly as you crouch next to him. You hold his arm, your other hand rubbing up and down his back with soothing pressure. “Dirk, look at me. Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. He’s gasping again, his sleeves pressing against his eyes. His shades are lying on the floor as he heaves while he tries to breathe. “I-It was—It—”

“Stop, shh, don’t talk. Breathe. Look at me, Dirk, _look at me._ ”

He obeys. You push your own shades up, red looking at orange. He’s still hyperventilating, but you can get him to relax if he still reacts to the old method you always used to use during his panic attacks. You put your hand on his chest and you grab his wrist, putting his hand on your own chest. 

“Follow me,” you say.

You breathe in, slowly. He tries, but you feel his lungs stuttering under your touch. You give him time to obey, and you breathe out slowly and he does the same, gasping in between. 

You do this for a good long minute. You breathe in and he copies you, feeling your chest move. His chest isn’t so erratic under your touch anymore. He’s staring at you and his eyes are clear of tears and his lungs are mirroring yours exactly without any jerks or gasps. You’re both breathing together. Works every time. 

“It was a lot, huh?” you say. 

He sniffles and nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna ruin your day.”

“You didn’t. We’re going to watch a movie for two hours anyway. That’s tons of time to relax, right? And then after, I’ll call the limo driver and have him pick us up at the back door so we don’t have to go through the crowd again. We don’t even have to go to the after party.” 

“You have to go to the after party. It’s your movie.”

“The movie will be over by then. I’ve been with those people for over a year now. I want to hang out with you tonight.” 

“Twenty minutes at the after party,” Dirk compromises. 

“Fine.” You lift your arm to shift your sleeve down and then check your watch. “Got fifteen minutes until the screening starts.” 

“Can we sit here five more minutes?” 

“Of course, kid.” 

You move to join him against the wall. He’s still breathing slowly, just in case his attack tries to come back for a second round. You stare at a fake plant under a copy of a famous artwork on the wall and feel completely content, even if your friends and fame are somewhere else in the building. You feel so okay sitting here with Dirk. 

He puts his shades back on and fixes his sleeve cuffs that were wrinkled by his tears. Then he smirks and looks over at you saying, “At least I don’t have to worry about my mascara running.” 

“Speak for yourself.” 

He laughs and you both stand together. You run a hand through his hair, even if he grunts in protest and leans into your touch regardless. When you both reach the crowd of crew and movie goers that could afford the first screening ticket, Dirk is calm. He stays close to your side and doesn’t speak much when you introduce him to people, but he’s calm and he’s smiling a little and when he whispers stuff to you it’s happy. 

You get a spot next to him in the theatre. He freaks out a little when he sees Stiller in the corner talking to someone and you laugh at him and call your friend over to introduce them. After, Dirk leans towards you to mutter, “Oh my God, I think I just had another panic attack.” 

You want to tell him that’s not funny, his attacks are serious, but if joking about them is how he copes then you’ll smile with him. 

He doesn’t sleep once during your movie. The entire theatre laughs at the right parts and cries from laughter at the best parts and you even get to see Dirk grinning. You can hear his laugh specifically rather than it blending in with everyone else in the large room, and you love that. He hits your arm sometimes, recognizing some of the parts from your notebook of comics or parts he helped you write when you were stuck. 

When it’s all over you stand up and pose in front of the screen with your cast and crew for pictures and applause and Dirk even stands up for you. 

As agreed on, you and Dirk spend twenty minutes at the after party. You manage to have two strong drinks, dance with a few lovely ladies and men and one other. Dirk gets asked to dance by one of the young members of your cast but he blushes and stutters and then manages to get out some type of sentence that where he says he doesn’t dance but that he’s very grateful for the offer. 

With a simple call, you get your driver to pull around to the back. A few paparazzi saw the limo leaving and catch you and Dirk, but it’s only about three people and you mutter to Dirk to stick his middle finger up and you do the same. It’s harder to sell explicit content. 

You stumble into the limo only because you’re kind of buzzed now and you put your feet up on the seat across from you. Dirk sits sideways, his legs across your lap as he spreads out on the seat and sighs. You think it’s a sigh of satisfaction. 

“Besides the freak out, I had fun,” Dirk says. “It was really cool.” 

“It was, wasn’t it? I almost kind of want to be in some weird scandal so that I can show up on the cover of People.” 

Dirk snorts, sitting up to face you now. “Hell, that one reporter was asking if I was your date and then you said no, that’s your brother. I think that mistake was a scandal in itself.” 

“I dunno,” you slur a bit. “You’re date material.” 

“Last time my dong was touched I screamed.” 

You snort and so does Dirk until you’re both laughing. His head rests on your shoulder for a moment and your fingers touch his hip. His legs are still across your lap and your other arm is lying over his knees. The wall that separates you from the driver is up. The lights on the street are dim from the tinted windows as they pass. And Dirk’s breathing is calm, just like when you sat with him back in that hallway. 

“You don’t scream when I touch you,” you say. 

“I did when I was a kid and you took me away from my Legos ‘cause I had to go to school.” 

You scoff with a smile. “That wasn’t screaming, that was angry grunting.”

He shrugs with a short hum. “Thanks,” he says. 

“It’s okay,” you reply, already knowing what he’s talking about. “I didn’t expect you to be perfectly fine. I’m sorry I put you in that situation, kid. You know I’d never want you feeling like that on purpose.” 

“No, I know. Just, thanks for taking care of me, even during your big night.” 

“It wouldn’t be as big of a night without you, kiddo. I wouldn’t be here in L.A. with you if it weren’t for you.” 

You’re glancing down at his face, but he can’t see that. He’s smiling, and that’s his response to your statement. You can still feel alcohol on your breath and your limbs feel kind of heavy and you realize that you two are on the verge of cuddling and it’s been a long time since you’ve been able to do that with him. 

You don’t think about guilt or relationships as you lean down, your lips touching his cheek. The limo goes over a bump and Dirk’s head rocks a bit with your shoulder and you think you can feel him breathing on your mouth. 

When your eyes close, your phone rings. You flinch and Dirk lifts his head. You think his cheeks are burning a red color. He pulls your phone out for you since he’s pressed against that hip, but he moves away to face forward as you take the phone and you wonder if you did something wrong. You don’t even want to answer the call. 

But then you see Rose’s caller ID. 

“Hey,” you say, rather than giving some insulting greeting. 

“Hey, you. Saw your ugly mug on the television,” she says. 

“It’s called Photoshop. See, I already look perfect. And when they try to improve that perfection, it cancels out to make me look ugly. Because I’m so perfect, Lalonde. That’s totally how it works and you can’t disprove me.” 

“I am not a scientist and I find your claim reasonable and acceptable. You busy right now?”

“Nah. Heading home with Dirk, we just left the after party.” 

“Tell him hi.”

“Rose says hi.”

“Hi.”

“Dirk says hi.” 

“Good. Got any projects coming up?” 

You tilt your head as you think and then reply, “No. Thought about it, but I think I’m going to chill in the afterglow of this one for a while before I write anything new.” 

“Loser, you’ve got a project. I want to make my book into a movie. I think we’d be an amazing duo.” 

Your eyes widen as you sit up. “You do understand what this probably means, right?” 

“We’re already looking at homes in your area.”

“Shut up.”

“I know, I know, I woke up this morning and was like ‘How can I make Dave Strider’s life even more of a living hell? Ah! I’ll be his neighbor.’” 

“You’re an asshole, I can’t wait. Maybe Roxy can finally get Dirk out of the apartment. I can’t remember the last time he’s come to the surface for sun.” 

“Hilarious,” Dirk comments. 

“Roxy is over the top excited,” Rose says. “Glad you agreed. I know you didn’t exactly say you agreed, but I’m deciding that you did and you’ll now be helping me write the script and will also be directing _Complacency of the Learned._ Got it?” 

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m hanging up now.” 

“Okay, b—” You look at the screen of the phone and then mutter, “She really did hang up.” 

“What was that about?” Dirk asks. 

“Rose, Kanaya and Roxy will be moving here. She wants us to work together on her book’s movie.” 

“No way.” 

“Hell yeah. Pretty good night, huh?” 

He nods, but he’s looking out the window. You glance at his hand on his lap and kind of want to touch it. Sometimes when Dirk is sad or panicking, that’s the only time you can truly get close to him and hold him like you did when he was a kid. Now there’s this adult barrier. He’s too old to come to you after nightmares or hold your hand on the way to school or wrap his arms around your neck when you carry him. He’s practically an adult and you crave any situation that gives you permission to be close to him. 

“Bro?” you hear your brother whisper. 

“Hm.”

“Did you sell yourself?”

“What?”

“Did you prostitute yourself?” 

Your chest feels tight and you feel scared as you look at him. He’s not looking at you, and that makes it harder. You want to stare into his eyes and figure out what’s going on in his head, but all you get is a dim reflection from the dark window. 

“Why would you…?” 

“I remember that night when you were crying,” Dirk says softly, still looking away. “I’ve never seen you cry so hard. You took a long shower. And you had some big bills in your pocket. You were so quiet and depressed that whole week, and it was right before that CPS visit.”

He’s not going to look at you, so you don’t try to stare at him anymore. You look at the wall in the middle of the limo that has the company’s logo on it and you practically glare at it. You think about that horrible night and your stomach feels so sick and you remind yourself that you were never, ever going to let Dirk know about what you did. What you did for him and you. 

He’s always been too smart for you though. 

“It was just once,” you answer. “I needed a little more money in my account… to keep you.” 

Dirk doesn’t reply. Your eyes are stinging. You never wanted him to know. You never wanted him to know this, God, shit, he shouldn’t know this shit about you, fuck—

His head is on your shoulder and he makes your thoughts stop. He’s flush against your side and his hand is on your leg. He’s close, even after knowing what you did. He knows how horrible you are, what you’ve done for money, and he’s still close and allowing you to touch him and you shiver, about to cry. You keep it in, though. God, he’s too good for you. Always was.

“Dirk?” you say, wishing you could speak louder than you are. It’s so quiet, maybe broken. 

He doesn’t reply. You look over at him and realize his eyes are closed and his fingers are uncurled and limp and he’s breathing the way he did against your lips a while ago, fast asleep. You press your lips to his hair instead, and it’s so soft and smells nice. Smells like him. 

“We’re here, sir,” the driver says. 

“One more lap around the block.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Spring break to whoever is on it or is going to be on it! Hope you enjoyed the read~ You guys are seriously the best. I love to know what you all think, and you can chat with me here or you can bug me on my Tumblr (Plajus). I'm really nice, I promise. c:


	6. Chapter 6

You are Dirk Strider and Roxy Lalonde loves to hold your hand. Rose and Dave have been extremely busy lately working on _Complacency of the Learned_ and Kanaya has been improving her fashion line from L.A. And since you’re still not in college, you often pick up Roxy from school. 

Her home is walking distance, or city bus distance, but you like to help out on a Monday or a Friday where she’s probably not in the mood to walk, and she’s always incredibly thankful. She follows you to a pawn shop where you get supplies for your projects, holding your hand. She’s a whole head shorter than you and she’s a skinny little thing, but she’s grown curves since puberty, and she likes to make fun of the boys in her grade who are just starting puberty, so their voices are cracking, which is hilarious to her. 

You didn’t realize you got lonely while Dave was away, but hanging out with Roxy more really helps you. You’d help her with homework or something, but it turns out she’s a little genius like you. She’s been helping you write codes lately, and she might even be better than you. When you make a new robot you do the expert building and she helps code it. 

One day while she’s over she says, “We should start a business.” 

You’re currently updating AR. He’s saying nothing in your shades while you write out codes. Roxy is sitting on your bed and doing homework, and she’s doing it very quickly. She’s just about as much as a prodigy as you are. 

“For what,” you say. You’re listening, but you’re more focused on your AI.

“We could make a shit ton of robots,” she says. “Like, a few thousand at first. Then those robots will make robots for us. And then we can start an android take over and you and I can be the rulers.” 

“You make a convincing argument,” you say. 

You work quietly for a while and you shush Roxy when she tries to keep talking about her robot takeover because you kind of feel like a parent and you remind her to get her homework done with first before you two can discuss world domination by android. It doesn’t sound horrible. You could probably connect to a population of AIs rather than a population of humans, which you suck at.

“Roxy,” you speak up when she sets her homework aside to signal that she’s done. 

“Sup bae.”

“I’ll tell you a huge secret if you tell me one in return.” 

She hums as she thinks, swaying as she puts her homework away. She hums for a long time. A really long time. Your expression becomes unimpressed by her humming amount and she just grins back at you because you know she’s trying to bug you and she also knows it’s working. 

“Okay,” she finally agrees. 

“After the premiere last year for _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff_ , Dave and I came home in the limo. And he was a little buzzed. And he almost kind of kissed me… I think? I dunno. He was close. It might have been an accident, maybe he was just dozing off and had no idea where his dumb mouth was.”

Roxy has her full attention on you, probably deciding not to tease you anymore after such a serious statement. She nods slowly when you’re done talking, thinking and twisting her fingers through the bottom curls of her hair. You really don’t know if she’s going to have any advice for you, because even you don’t have advice for you, but you’re fairly certain that you just want to share. You’ve had this situation stuck in your head for a long time. 

“My moms always say that love is love,” Roxy says. “Gender, race, religion, it’s all bullshit in love. You just gotta be nice to each other n’ shit, ya know? And you and Dave are nice to each other. So…” She trails off and shrugs as she looks at you as if she’d made her point. Which you guess she has. 

“Your turn,” you say. 

“I like a lot of people,” Roxy says.

“What? That doesn’t count as a big secret, dude.” 

“Totally does. I just mean, like… I like Jane, ya know?” 

“She’s eighteen. You’re fourteen.”

“I know, I know you ass! I don’t wanna marry her and have lots of gay sex or anything. I just think she’s really nice and pretty, and maybe one day when I’m older she’ll be single and we can do a date. That’s what I mean.”

“Okay, okay. So you kinda like an older lady.”

“Yeah. But I also like this girl at school. Callie. She’s cute as fuck. Also, I think your brother’s friend John is super, super hot.” 

“John is as old as Bro and he’s also aro. Regardless, you may be polyamorous.”

“Yeah. I think so. Is that okay?” 

You actually laugh as you nod because you find it funny that Roxy would ever think you’d be mad at her for something like this. “Yes, Lalonde, that’s okay. Marry all of California for all I care, I’ll be front row at your wedding. Actually, not front row. I better be your maid of honor or I’m not coming at all.”

“Well _duh._ ” 

You grin at her and set your shades aside since Roxy is done with her homework. You both have your attention on each other, but your eyes fall to your hands in your lap and you pick at your nails that are short because you bite them when you’re nervous. Which is often. 

“You’re serious though,” you say.

“What?”

“I admitted that my own brother almost kissed me and you’re response is ‘love is love.’ And you’re serious?” 

“Dirk. I was raised by lesbians. One of my moms is Muslim and the other got knocked up by a dark dude that gave me hella curls in my hair, which is the only good thing he’s ever done for my life. The point is, my family is one of the most open minded families there is and I think we’re pretty fucking nice. I get that incest is nasty to the world, but it’s not like you and Dave are gonna hook up so you can get knocked up. Tell me, who are you going to hurt if you’re with him?” 

“His career,” you scoff. 

She groans, slumping in her spot. She pouts as she thinks, her elbow on her knee and her cheek in her palm. Then she asks more seriously, “Do you like him? Or are you just sharing with me about this weird almost kiss?” 

God, you didn’t want her to ask that, because you have no idea. Well, the answers obviously no. No, you don’t like Dave. Not like _that_. That’d be gross. 

The world thinks it’s gross. Like Roxy said, incest is nasty to the world. But… it’s not like you being with your brother is going to set the apartment on fire. It’s not going to end the world, it’s not going to tear families apart and it’s not going to make you lose your best friend.

“I don’t know,” you say. You really, really don’t know. 

“You have a lot of thinking to do,” Roxy says. “It’s getting late though. Can you drive me home?” 

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I know. I should start ordering you to do it.” 

“Don’t push your luck, Lalonde.” 

 

 

Your eighteenth birthday is coming up and Dave will be turning thirty-one. When you turned seventeen and Dave hit the big thirty you both went out to the fancy restaurant again since it’s been a tradition for every birthday now. No matter how disgusting they are, you both always order the snails and watch a movie with unhappy stomachs when you get back home. 

You’ve been selling a lot of blueprints and robots lately. You’ve been using whatever scrap pieces of metal you can and have been taking trips to the junkyard, anything to save more money. Two weeks before your eighteenth birthday, you have enough money. You’re putting all your excitement about being an adult towards your brother rather than yourself for some reason. 

When he’s working (when isn’t he working?) you make the calls and wait. You wait and wait and tease your brother that you’re getting him nothing for his birthday. You tell him you’ll buy a mop from Dollar Tree and stick a bow on it. Or wrap Cal around it. 

He makes a reservation for the snail restaurant, your favorite private room. He tells you that he’s getting you a card with a Steam gift card of five bucks in it. You punch his shoulder and tell him to hurry up and go to work. 

The movie is coming along well. Rose’s book has become so big across the country and there’s posters in every Borders and Books-A-Million store, and trailers for the movie are on every single channel along with your brother’s name and Rose’s name in huge, bolded letters underneath the ending title screen. Dave, Rose and everyone in the cast has been on every big news channel, entertainment channel and in every magazine. His first movie was big, but lately the whole books into movie thing has been the greatest craze in America. And Dave is in the center of it all. 

A week before your birthday you sell another robot and then head down to the pawn shop to see what kind of supplies they have for a cheap price. You get a new wrench and buy two old radios. The man behind the counter tells you that they’re broken, but you’re aware of that. You just want the wires and parts inside of them. 

When you leave the store, the first thing you hear is the shutters and clicks. You shield your eyes from the sun and see them all. 

Paparazzi everywhere. At least fifteen different people, all with big cameras, all full of questions, all around you. 

Your eyes are wide under your shades. A lady is asking how you feel being under your brother’s shadow, another asks about the fucking car crash from when you were four, another is yelling about what you do for a living and another is asking why you didn’t go to college and you hear Dave’s name and you hear your own name and they’re all talking, all the cameras are flashing. 

You hear Dave’s voice in your head, even though you’re starting to gasp and your fingers are shaking. 

You remember what he told you to do in this case. You hold your bag of purchases tightly in one hand and your right hand goes up and you flash a big middle finger for everyone to see. Someone is teasing you, telling you to smile and give them a break, but you hold up the big “fuck you” and try to walk straight towards the crowd. They part like the Red Sea and let you through since they can’t touch you and you walk straight for home. They follow anyway. They follow and record and their loud voices cover up your gasping and your shades cover up your watering eyes. 

You feel stupid holding up your middle finger like that. You feel so fucking stupid and embarrassed. You fish out your phone and your hand is shaking a lot as you try to call Dave and put the phone to your ear. 

It rings eight times and goes to voice mail. You text him and ask him if he’s there, but it shows that he hasn’t read the message. You call again. Home is a block away. They can’t come into the building like you can. 

Your heart is racing and you already know what’s going to happen. Hell, you’re planning it right now in the chaos. You’re planning your own break down. You’re planning your own panic attack. 

When you see the front doors of the apartment building, you run. You run and they follow and yell with their recorders and cameras. The doorman inside the building opens the door for you and you reach safety and he slams the door shut behind you and then puts his back to the window so that their cameras only get his suit and not you. 

You face the man who’s been the building’s doorman all these years, your breath shuddering. Even though you’re going to fall apart, you pause and look at the man as you back away towards the elevator. 

“Thanks, Damien.” 

He tips his hat and smiles at you and then leans back against the door, crossing his ankles and his arms. His smile turns into a grin as he blocks all those cameras from seeing anything but his back and butt, which he seems pretty proud of, and you can’t help but make a brief smile as your finger presses the button in the elevator and the doors close, the elevator lifting you in an isolated box of silence. 

You drop your bag and the wrench and radios make a loud clatter. You collapse to your knees and double over and hug yourself as the hyperventilating and sobbing starts. 

 

 

Dave still hasn’t come home from working. Your panic attack has been over for a long time. It lasted a lot longer than usual though. You had controlled your breathing long enough to reach the apartment where you collapsed with your back to the door to continue gasping until the air was too much and your vision filled with colors and your head got dizzy. You’re pretty sure you almost passed out. 

You call Dave three more times. He doesn’t answer. You text him. You tell him it’s important but it still shows that he hasn’t read the messages.

You text Jake, but you don’t tell him anything is wrong. You ask if he’s awake and he says yes and he asks you if everything is okay and if you need him to call. You say no. You say you can’t sleep. So he proceeds to talk about an injured animal he and his Gramma Jade had rescued on the island and you pretend everything is just fine as you chat with him until he goes to bed. 

You’re too tired to text and pretend anymore, so you don’t message Roxy or Jane.

By now you’re just exhausted. It’s eleven at night. You call down to the lobby and Damien the Doorman says there’s still a group of paparazzi outside and you thank him before hanging up. 

You take a shower because that’s one of your coping methods. You make the water extra hot so that the stinging burn will help distract you. You always wash yourself first, cleaning your skin and shampooing your hair and rubbing any dried tears away from your eyes, but then when it’s over you just stand there in the hot stream with your eyes closed and your arms crossed over your chest so you can get as much hot water on your body as possible. 

You’re so tired. You sit on the floor of the tub and clutch your knees to your chest, the spray of the shower hitting your back. The room is filling with steam and the air you’re breathing feels so thick now.

And then there’s a huge pound at the door. 

“Dirk!” 

Your brother’s voice is muffled since there’s a door between the two of you, a shower going, and a fan humming all at the same time. Your heart raced for a few good seconds, but you’re calming down now as you stand up and turn the shower off. 

It’s so quiet now. You’re shivering as cooler air touches your wet skin. 

“Dirk,” Dave says again. 

It has to be midnight by now. You grab your towel and wrap it around your shoulders like a shawl and then just stand next to the door, not replying yet. 

“Kiddo?” 

“Yeah,” you reply monotone. 

“Did they get to you?” 

Your finger reaches out and draws in the steam on the mirror. You draw Hella Jeff and then feel irritated and rub it away. You start drawing a horse head instead. 

“Dirk, the paparazzi. Did they run into you at all? Did you leave the apartment today?” 

You destroy the horse, your palm smearing across the mirror. 

“Kid. Talk to me.” 

“What did you say about me?” you demand. 

“Open the door and listen to me.” 

“What did you say?” 

“I want to talk face to face. I want to make sure you’re okay.” 

“What did you say?!” you yell. 

He says nothing for a few moments. You start drying your hair as your eyes tear up. It’s stupid and you rub your eyes with the towel before you start drying off the rest of your body. You think you’re an ugly crier so you avoid the mirror at this point and wish you hadn’t rubbed the fog away so that it’d cover up your reflection. 

“I did an interview for Entertainment News. And they asked who my date was for my first movie premiere.” 

“And you corrected them,” you say, and you hate how you spit it out. It feels good at the time, but you regret it after. “You corrected them and said no, that’s your brother. And you said my name, didn’t you?”

You don’t hear anything. You toss the towel towards the hamper and miss, but you don’t care. You didn’t expect Dave to come home at all tonight because he’s been so busy that you assumed he’d just spend the night at a hotel near the set. So you didn’t bring clothes with you into the bathroom, just your old ones. 

“You talked about me,” you say and pick up the towel to wrap it around your waist. “What else did you say?” 

“I… I got carried away. I just—I got all feely, ya know. Thinking about where we were. Where we are now. My mouth turned into another person and just went off like some shitty speech and my brain couldn’t stop and I just said you were amazing, you’re a prodigy, you’re—you made our life the way it is now.” 

It’s sweet, but you’re still overwhelmed and mad. You throw the door open and the steam drifts out and you stare at your brother who looks tired, his tie loose and his button up pulled out from its tucked spot in his pants. He has his shades on and you can catch his eyes moving, looking at your body. Then your eyes. 

“I called,” you say. “I called while they followed me and yelled at me. I texted while I was hyperventilating in the elevator. They were fucking _piranhas_ after me. Now I’m going to be on the news, I’m going to be online, people are going to talk about me, people all over the fucking world are going to talk about me!” 

You’re going to gasp and cry again now that you’ve said the concept out loud. You’re so terrified. You can hardly go to set with Dave without getting a little nervous and now the whole world is going to know your name and who you’re related and what you look like. 

“Dirk,” Dave whispers, and he reaches for your chest and hand. He wants to do the breathing exercise, he wants you to copy him because you’re starting to gasp. 

You would have loved it hours ago when you were calling him for help.

But right now you wretch away and then shove past him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Dirk, it’s my fault, I know that. Kiddo, I have my best people on it, they’re going to get your pictures down. You’re still seventeen, technically a minor, we’ll get those pictures down, I’ll sue if I have to. Dirk, did you put your finger up?” 

“Yeah, until I started freaking out,” you say and go to your room.

“Dirk—Hey, kiddo—”

“I’ve been freaking out ever since you tried to kiss me!”

You slam your door. This is your first real fight with Dave and that alone is making you freak out, just like the paparazzi did. You don’t even want to think about what’s online or what people are saying about you, but just because you don’t want to think about it doesn’t mean your brain is going to obey. 

Dave doesn’t come bother you. You hear him out in the main room talking, probably on the phone, but it’s too far and muffled to make out what he’s saying. Occasionally, his voice rises and you hear a few things like “I don’t care!” and “Do it now!” 

You lay on your back and mess around on Tumblr on your phone for a while and then do some research from some PDF textbooks on engineering you’ve downloaded. Jane calls you crazy for reading stuff like that for fun, but you remind her that she reads recipe books for fun and that helps her pipe down. 

You stay up late and listen as Dave showers. While he showers you get up and finally take that towel away from your waist and change into some flannels and your Spirit the horse shirt before crawling into bed again to face the window and stare at the moon. You do some math in your head about when the moon must have risen based on its phase and what time of the year it is, but your eyelids grow heavy. It’s not like you’ve just gotten tired, though. Ever since the paparazzi attack you’ve been exhausted, and only now do you let that take you over.

 

 

In the morning you’re too mentally worn out to care. Last night felt stupid and unnecessary. You woke up around eleven since you honestly don’t give a shit about your sleep patterns. You’ve stayed up for two nights in a row and you’ve also slept for sixteen hours before. You don’t have a real corporate job and you don’t go to school so it’s not like you’re ever going to be late for anything as long as you finish commissions for the programs and robots you sell on time. 

You head out of your room, your fingers running back through your hair to try and fix up the messy spikes that were pressed into weird directions because you slept with damp hair rather than drying it. You think you left your shades out on the coffee table since you tore them off when you got home yesterday since you were crying so hard. 

In your head, you call yourself a baby. You turn around the end of the hallway to enter the kitchen. 

Dave is at the table drinking coffee, his phone in his other hand, his thumb scrolling and then typing. His shades are off too. He looks up and stares at you like you’re a startled deer and he’s trying not to frighten you with any sudden movements. 

“Don’t you have work?” you ask. “Like… always?” 

“It’s mostly editing at this point,” Dave says. “Only one scene I want to redo. I trust the people I hired, they’ll survive one day without me. Thought we could hole up and avoid the piranhas for the day, let them get bored. I like that name for them, though. Piranhas. Gonna start using that around set.”

You don’t say anything to that. You stare at your brother who keeps playing with his phone and then you decide to get yourself some orange juice and cook up one of those pancake-sausage sticks that looks like a corndog. After, you sit at the table and feel the anxiety bubbling up as everything that was said and done last night comes flashing through your head. You regret so much, yet you wish you had said even more.

“Are my pictures everywhere?” you ask. 

“They were on TMZ for a while,” he answers honestly, “but for real, everything is on TMZ. Me stopping at the gas station is on TMZ. Ryan Gosling wiping his ass is on TMZ. Point is, we got it off pretty quickly. Got it off all the other sites too.” 

“Who’s we?”

“I hired some talented guys to work their legal magic. I also called Roxy. She called back in one hour and had hacked any site that was using a picture to delete it. All the videos were taken before anyone on any entertainment channel could make a segment about it.” 

You nod, making a mental note that you’ll have to call Roxy later and thank her. You knew she had mad hacking skills, but you’re really impressed at the moment. She’s amazing for her age and you’re so glad she knows it.

“Bro—”

“Don’t,” Dave says. “Don’t apologize. I fucked up, kid. It’s my fault and I’m taking the heat, don’t even worry about it. Okay?” 

There’s not fighting him on this. You know that tone. 

“Okay,” you agree. “So… we’re stuck inside all day?”

“Yup.”

You manage a smile. You’re glad he doesn’t mention that last thing you yelled at him last night, and you instead spend a really good day with your brother. He’s been so busy lately with the movie and is always working weekends and getting home late. 

But today you play video games with him and watch movies and even make a homemade pizza with him while listening to loud, ironic music. There’s a tall fence that keeps the public eye away from the apartment building’s pool, so you and Dave get dressed and head on down. Everyone in the building already know the famous Dave Strider lives here so the other people outside only stare for a good five minutes before letting you both exist without being ogled at. 

Dave shows off on the diving board and you stay dry on a lawn chair, just watching for now. You’re mostly nervous about undressing in front of other people, even if you know you don’t really look bad. You like your body, but that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable showing off in front of the other residents. 

You’re looking at your brother’s body in the most brotherly way possible (bullshit). He used to be skinny back in Houston, just a tall stick because of the way he’d starve himself to keep you fed. But ever since you both moved to L.A. he’s been gaining weight and he’s been working out because he knew those cameras were going to tear him apart if he didn’t look good. 

And God, he looks really good. Just last month he was made “Sexiest Man Alive” for this magazine and Dave did a photoshoot for the cover, standing half naked with his briefs showing, a red tie around his neck and his shades on and a closed-lip smirk on his face. You can already imagine the picture showing up behind his head when he gets to be on Ellen next month. 

“You gonna swim or not?” Dave pushes when he comes back over, shaking his wet hair. 

“I’m fine. It ain’t hot enough.”

“It’s, like, ninety you tool.” He leans down a little and starts patting his thighs in time with his chanting. “Strip. Strip. Strip. Strip! Strip! Strip! STRIP!” 

“Stop, you’re so embarrassing!” 

You yank your shirt off and chuck it as hard as you can at his face. Your shirt isn’t exactly made of metal or anything heavy, so it just makes a light _fwump_ into his face. He laughs and pulls it off, tossing it by the bag of things you brought down, and then he pokes at some of the freckles on your shoulder. You’re covered in them and so is Dave. Yours are mostly on your face and shoulders and Dave’s are from his arms and down. You’re staring again. 

You don’t do any flips off the diving board, but you do wade around in the area of the pool where you stand tall and the water level reaches your neck. You keep looking at the tall fence, wondering if the paparazzi can magically get new camera lenses that lets them take pictures through thick blockades, but Dave always calls for your attention to distract you again. 

He goes under the water and lets you step in his palms and he does his best to throw you through the air and you splash embarrassingly back into the water again, but his laugh helps you to not feel any humiliation. When you get tired you sit on the edge of the pool, swinging your legs back and forth as you watch Dave play with some of the neighbor kids from the building. 

You know he’ll have to go work again tomorrow. You know you’ll be stuck inside for the next few days until the reporters and paparazzi get bored. But you’ll have today to make it all bearable. 

 

 

On your birthday and Dave’s you go to the snail restaurant. You both always get the same order and the same gross snails and wear your same fancy suits and Dave always ties your tie for you. Tonight you think he pulled you closer. You hate how you’re both dancing around this messed up issue but neither of you have the guts to bring it up. 

When you both get home your suits are disheveled and you both kind of just want to sleep away the stomach pain from the snails. But instead of going up to the apartment, Dave starts dragging you to a different part of the parking garage. 

“Come on,” you whine tiredly. “I just wanna go upstairs and watch Mulan, old man. Pleeeeease. I don’t want you to kill me in a parking garage, it won’t be good on your publicity.” 

There are personal garages within the parking garage. They all have keypads on them, and they’re kind of like storage units, and the last names of whoever owns them are put across the garage door. Dave doesn’t own one because he honestly doesn’t feel like it and if someone is stupid enough to steal his car then they deserve it and he has more than enough money to get himself a new one. Also, there’s only like ten garages and they were all taken when Dave moved in.

Yet, you find one with the name Strider on it. Dave puts a hand around your shoulders, tugging you close to show you the code to get it, 1-2-0-3, your birthday. Then the garage door lifts and it’s not empty and ready for a car. Instead, it’s full of your stuff. A brand new desktop, a whole wall full of organized tools, boxes of wiring and boxes of metal and a saw and a welder. There’s a facemask and gloves and a working bench and a rolling computer chair and a fancy speaker system. 

“No,” you say. “Dave, no.”

He knows it’s serious when you don’t call him Bro. 

“Dirk, come on.”

“Dave, no! No, it’s too much, no, no, no—”

“Dirk! Shh! Shh. Just. Shh. Look. I felt hella bad about what happened with the paparazzi. And I’m fuckin’ sick of you welding in the house and finding sharp pieces of metal left on the floor, it’s annoying as hell. You basically have your own business now.” He pushes on your back, forcing you to go into your new work space and look around. “I would have stopped writing comics and stories forever if you weren’t there to make me read them to you so much,” Dave continues. “You really did make this life possible and I want to help you start out with your passions too.” 

You’re not crying. Your eyes just sting. You nod because there’s no way in hell Dave is ever going to let you sell this stuff again, and you have to remind yourself that he’s loaded with money now. Although, he still tries to save. A lot. He puts a lot of money towards charity, mostly stuff for orphanages and helping kids out of abusive situations or to put the underprivileged into college. Anything he personally relates to.

You turn on your new computer and after the screen loads up, your AR that has given himself the identity “Hal” is there. 

TT: I’m fucking loving this new set up, I’m so at home here.

You grin and roll your new chair around, checking out all your new tools and supplies. You check out your new welder and your new saw and also see that Dave has brought down some of your CDs so that you can put them in your new stereo. 

Then you remember you have a gift for him. 

“I’ll hug you after I show you your gift,” you say and stand up. You don’t know how it happens, but you grab onto his hand and start dragging him towards the doors that lead you both inside, only after Dave tells you to chill and closes the garage again. 

When you’re in the elevator with him you say, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“No, thank you. Thank you, Bro. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

He chuckles and strokes your hair once, and you don’t care this time since it’s already messy. You were kind of pulling on it while you were freaking out over your gift. 

When you reach the apartment you chuck your jacket aside and loosen the tie around your neck that Dave worked so hard on. You’re not holding his hand anymore, but you do grab his shirt sleeve, his jacket still hanging on his other arm, but it falls off when you’re both halfway down the hallway. After seeing your gift you’re too excited to wait any longer to show Dave his own. 

“If you got me a bedroom then I already have one,” Dave says.

“I told them to put it in while we were out to eat,” you say, mostly to yourself. 

“What?”

You open his bedroom door and you smile in relief when you see it’s there. 

“Dirk…” 

It’s his turntables. The ones he sold when you were little, the ones he sold when you had to move, the ones he sold when he needed to feed you and put you in school and keep you safe and alive with him. 

You’re smiling with pride. Dave is approaching them slowly. His old stickers are still on the sides, along with Sharpie drawings that he put on it himself. 

“These… it’s the same one,” he says. “How did you…?” 

“I’m a prodigy, Bro. I remembered the kid’s name when he bought it. And I saw his father’s license when he opened his wallet to pay, so I knew his last name. I called all the people named Matthew Fallway in Houston and eventually the right one said he still had the turntables. I offered a trade. I bought him brand new turntables, the latest and hottest thing on the market, and in turn I got your old ones back. I hired some movers to install them again tonight while we were out.” 

“Dirk, no,” he says, and you laugh at how it mirrors your own words earlier. “No, no, no, no,” he goes on, but he’s turning the turntables on and adjusting knobs and rolling the record until a wonderful sound comes out.

Before the accident and before Dave sold the turntables, he showed you how to play them. Even at five you were talented with music and you would stand on a stool and he would hover behind you so that you both could jam and make music together. They were so important to him. Before he grew a passion for his comics and writing he used to talk about being a DJ duo with you. 

“You made all those phone calls,” Dave says in awe. “You called all those people by yourself.” 

“Yeah. It was for you, so… it was less scary then.” 

Dave has to make your doctor appointments. Dentist appointments. Any appointments. Phone calls were pure hell because of your anxiety. But you really, really, really wanted these tables and no wrong number or wrong, angry Matthew Fallway was going to make you scared of making a phone call. 

Today made it all really worth it. 

Dave finally snatches that hug from you, clutching you to his chest until you’re pressed so hard to his body that you lose your breathing for a moment. But then your hands raise and you reach around him, clutching back around his middle while his arms are around your shoulders, and you think you feel his nails digging in as if he needs to keep you from pulling away. 

Your face is right over his shoulder and you press your face down, right where his shoulder meets his neck. You suddenly think about the night that Dave came home and sobbed on the futon, thinking you were asleep. You think about the way you crawled under his arm, pressuring him to hug you. You wanted to be his teddy bear and heal him. 

You want him to know you never once hated your life. 

The collar of his shirt is open and he smells like his faded cologne mixed with his shampoo and body wash. He smells like Dave. He smells like what his bed smells like and his clothes and his spot in the car. 

“Thank you,” Dave mutters, and his face is pressed into your hair. 

“Thank you,” you say in return. 

You shift to pull away and the back of your heel touches the wall. Dave’s feet shift too and your shoulder blade is next to touch the wall. His hands that are a little bigger than yours slip back and rest on your shoulders, but they don’t pull away. Instead, they touch the skin next to your own open collar and he gives a tug at your loose tie. 

“You always fuck these things up,” he says, and he means it as a joke, but his voice is so soft and it’s like you only hear it because the air of the words touches your skin. “You’re a human genius and you can’t tie a tie,” he continues so lightly, carefully undoing the tie. 

You probably won’t ever say it aloud, but you know exactly how to tie a tie. You wonder if he knows that too and you’re both playing a pretending game. 

He slips the tie off when the knots are undone. Your face feels hot, but you blush a lot more than the average person because of your worked up nerves and you’ll never truly get over how embarrassing it is to turn red so much. Dave’s used to it though and you’re hoping he won’t notice the pink on either side of your nose, and you also hope his hearing isn’t good enough to catch your heart that’s started to rush. 

Your eyes are down, watching the tie fall to the floor and pool up like a resting snake. You’re forced to stop staring at it when your brother’s hand finds your jaw and chin and your face is tilted up. You could push away and tell him to stop and you know he’d listen. But this is exhilarating. You’re terrified and it’s amazing. 

He can’t play this off anymore. He can’t say “Oh, you had something on your chin” and wipe it off and pull away. He can’t say he was really into the moment and pull away. He can’t say he was touching to check you for a fever and pull away. It’s all so obvious and you’re waiting. 

There’s no phone ringing to ruin this now. You know for a fact that he laid it out on the couch on your way in and it’s on vibrate so it can’t distract him. Only he can stop himself.

He speaks again, somehow in an even softer whisper. 

“Are you going to have an attack?” 

He can feel your heat, your heart. You shake your head no, but only a little, because you’re scared he’ll stop holding your chin like that. “No.” 

He’s finally fucking leaning in and you’re panicking in the greatest way. You push up lightly, back sliding on the wall, trying to meet him. Every worry you’ve ever had is dissipating because this single moment is the only thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, therefore it’s all that matters, it’s all you can base your feelings and actions off of. 

He’s literally breathing into your mouth and your eyes are almost closed and you’re so fucking desperate. You make a noise and you hate it. It’s so quiet, right in the back of your throat, like the smallest version of a whimper to ever exist. 

“C’mon,” you whisper, pleading. 

His fingertips uncurl, running out along your jaw and cheek and you feel a shudder run down your entire spine. 

He _finally fucking kisses you._

The slow ministrations cease and he just full on fits your mouths together like puzzle pieces. Your bottom lip is fitted between both of his lips and you only hear your breath being sucked in sharply and you can feel that Dave’s own heart is rushing just as fast yours with your hand spread out against his chest. His head is tilted and his fingertips brush back into your hair, holding you firmly. 

You love his lead, his control. 

He gave up everything all those years ago, he starved himself, he thought he was giving up his future, and he smiled for you when he was depressed. His touch is the only one that doesn’t make you panic in fear. He’s been in front of your eyes this entire times. 

You part your lips, but you quickly press up again so that he knows you’re not asking him to stop. You want another firm kiss, lips fitting once more, and this time Dave sucks in the sharp breath and his free hand grips at your waist, causing your spine to arch gently away from the wall and follow his hold. 

In the third firm kiss, there’s a pause, not a hesitation. Lips just touching, parted. You’re sharing each other’s breath, even if it probably smells like bad snails. You think his eyes are open. You want him to get into the moment and close them with you. 

This time, you make the move and slip your tongue out since his mouth is open and waiting and you taste his own tongue, and this actions triggers something inside your brother. He’s not rough, just more forward with what he wants. He pins you carefully to the wall, towering over you. It’s opposite of when Jake kissed you and hovered over you and was forward with what he wanted. It’s so different. Right now, it’s right. You’re not scared with anxiety, you’re scared with pleasure. 

He kisses you, over and over again. He leads you by a hold on your jaw, his body practically flush against yours and his mouth is the hottest part of him, so much warmer than anything else. Instead of just your breathing there’s the light smacks of when you both finish a kiss and he parts his lips to start a new one, and there’s the pauses when your tongues meet. 

You’re overwhelmed and it feels _so good._

When you’re breathing heavier he slows and then stops, his lips brushing and hovering over yours once more. He doesn’t continue. You make that pathetic noise again and try to make him start again, whispering some slurring form of “please,” but with his grip on your jaw he touches the back of your head to the wall, holding you there, and you’re at his mercy. Your eyes open dimly and his thumb rubs against your tired lower lip. 

You meet his eyes for the first time since this started. They’re dimmed like yours. He’s just staring at you and you can’t read what he’s thinking and for once in your life you’re not frustrated with not knowing things. He can have those thoughts. 

When he leans in again, it’s not for your lips. His lips press against your forehead, a damp pressure being held to your scar. Being eighteen, it’s faded, but it will never go away. You’ll always have that jagged, white thing on you. 

He speaks against your forehead, his breath making the spot that he just kissed feel chilly. 

“I need to think.” 

You’re breathless and maybe a little turned on. You look towards his collarbone, your fingers shaking and a tremble in your knees. 

“We’re not hurting anyone,” you say, quoting what Roxy said to you. 

“I need to think, Dirk.”

“After that? Shoulda said it earlier.” 

“Dirk.” He doesn’t sigh. His voice is so gentle, so serious. “I need to think.” 

You nod. Maybe you should think too. It’ll be good for both of you after what just happened and you need to be mature about this. You can’t be a lovestuck teen like you were with Jake. This is really, really fucking serious. He isn’t Jake, he isn’t a high-schooler, he’s your brother. He’s your parent. 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

“Thank you. Happy birthday, kiddo.” 

“Happy birthday. Goodnight.” 

His fingers run back through your hair, his thumb dragging over your scar for a moment. It’s his version of a goodnight without speaking, and that’s your cue to leave. 

You go to your room completely full of the shakes. You undress while lying in bed, staying calm. You are calm. 

You want to share his bed with him. 

You put your shades on briefly and turn them on. Hal’s there again. 

TT: That was hot.

You scoff and tell Hal goodnight and put the shades on your nightstand. You pull on your pajama pants and decide not to text Roxy about this just yet. Her birthday and yours are so close and you don’t want to cover up all her fun with your problems.

 

 

You don’t see Dave much in the following weeks. He feels distant. He leaves before you wake up and he gets home late or stays in a hotel near work. The release date is coming up fast and you feel like you live alone. 

You fucked up everything. You should have never wanted him to kiss you, you should have just held him and kept your face off of his skin, shouldn’t have taken in his scent. 

You’re stupid. During the day you’ve gone to his room twice now to lay in his bed and breathe in against his pillow. 

When you do see Dave, he has co-workers over at the apartment where they’re too busy working to chat with you. You try to make conversation and ask if Dave wants you to make him any coffee since he looks tired from work, but he says no thank you and then ignores you again. 

You fucked up. 

As a late birthday present for you, Roxy and Jane, your two missing friends come to L.A. Jane arrives first and Roxy picks her up at the airport. The next day you pick up Jake from the airport, and even after the way you left things you run into his arms and he picks you up with laughter, dropping his bags. It’s not romance you’re feeling for him, but just pure friendship. You really missed him. You remember now why you liked him so much in the first place. 

He goes on and on about how much he loves your brother’s movie. You both talk about what life has been like since high school. Jake talks about all the animals he’s saved and discovered, all the research he’s done, and he admits that he’s truly happy on that island. You talk about the online business you’ve started and how you and Roxy are thinking about running something real together. She’ll code and you’ll build.

“I missed you so much,” Jake says. 

While you’re driving he touches your leg. You’re not scared. You look over at him and then back at the road. “No.” 

His hand slips away. “I know. Had to try.” 

“Loser.”

He laughs and you laugh too, glad that he’s going to stay in your life. 

Jake and Jane freak out to see each other. You invite everyone to your workshop where you have couches from a secondhand store set up and an air mattress on the floor so that none of you have to deal with adults in your apartment or in Roxy’s home, just each other. 

Tonight is the premiere of _Complacency of the Learned_ and Roxy got legal access to the very first DVD, so you’re going to play it at midnight, the exact time the movie is going to be playing in front of millions of people across the world.

You guys watch TV on your desktop eating popcorn and pizza and drinking way too many cans of pop. Jake and Jane sit on the mattress together and seem very focused on their own conversation while you and Roxy are more interested on the TV. You’re watching a live entertainment channel that’s broadcasting the premiere. You’ve watched at least ten interviews of the cast and editors, but half an hour before the big screening your brother, Rose and Kanaya all come out of a limousine together. Rose in a gorgeous dark purple lace dress and Kanaya is wearing a black gown with a small train, but her hijab is a dark purple to match her wife. Both of them are standing tall with their shoulders back and the most beautiful curves, both of them smiling with a shine of black lipstick. 

Dave stands tall, doing the button of his black suit, but he has the brightest red bowtie there. The camera flashes make his shades shine every few seconds and in your mind you admit how amazingly hot he looks in that suit. All suits. You love the shape of his jawline and his gentle smile when Rose whispers something into his ear. 

“They’re all so hot,” Jane sighs. 

Roxy just starts laughing and you nudge your friend in the back with your foot. 

“What?” she says. “They are! And when are we going to go upstairs? I want to mess around with your fancy kitchen, Strider.”

“Hardly use it,” you admit. “It’s mostly takeout and pizza.”

“How can you only consume pizza and not get fat like me?” 

“You’re not fat!” Jake tries to counter. 

“Yes she is,” Roxy says, “and she’s fuckin’ gorgeous and workin’ it.” 

Jane throws her hand back and Roxy high-fives her with a loud slap. Jake stutters and calls Jane very beautiful and says he’s sorry for his ignorance and Jane tells him to shut up and gives him a good noogie. 

You explain that you’re not going upstairs until you all watch the movie together, but your eyes are on the TV. There are fans screaming in the background and you can see Rose signing autographs and taking selfies. Dave is talking to the host in front of the camera, answering questions. 

“Did you ever think you would be in a place like this when you were young?” the lady asks, putting her microphone up to Dave right after. 

He makes a smile that you catch as awkward. He rests on one hip, his hands in his pockets and then back out to hang at his sides. 

“Maybe,” he says. “With the support I had, anything felt possible at times.” 

She nods as if she understands and you look away from the TV. You’re met with Roxy though, and she’s staring at you. She smiles and holds your hand and you hold her hand back before you look back at the TV. 

“Well, Mr. Strider. I have to ask, what’s under the shades?” 

“I think I’m late for the movie,” Dave says and he laughs with the girl and you hate how they’re having fun and he’s been ignoring you. 

It’s tearing you apart. You feel like you’ve lost him. It’s been years of just you and him and suddenly he’s obsessed with Hollywood. Obsessed with ignoring you. He kissed you back, it’s not like you attacked him or something. Why is he making you suffer like this if the kissing was mutual? 

“Want to stick the movie in?” Roxy asks. 

You can’t seem to speak so Jake pipes up and says he’ll do it. 

Roxy was around for a lot of the editing, so she’s seen some of the scenes of the movie more than a few times. She falls asleep across your lap and you play with her blonde curls as you watch the movie for the first time, completely focused. It’s an amazing movie. You focus on the angles and the way the camera pans, the close ups and the zooms outs. Anything that was controlled by your brother’s skill you focus on. 

Jake is just as focused as you. He leans back against your legs and Jane falls asleep on his shoulder. You love your friends. You love your life. And even though you love this movie it makes you miss your brother. 

 

 

Your friends go home and Dave continues avoiding you for two more weeks. The happiness you felt being with your friends is falling apart. You want him to talk to you, you want him to meet your eyes. Even if he never kisses you or touches you again, that’s fine, you just need him to be your brother again. The more he avoids you, the less you miss him and the more you begin to despise him. He’s not the only one with crazy emotions because of what happened. 

So you make a plan. You’ll force him to come to you. 

You check the weather, and on a gloomy Thursday night you go the library and do some research in the old books they have on computer science and engineering. When it gets late and the building closes you’re asked politely to leave and you stand under the roof that extends just over the front doors, giving you two feet of safety from the drizzling rain. 

Around nine, you call your brother. A woman’s voice answers the phone. 

“Dave Strider’s phone. This is his assistant speaking.” 

You knew he had an assistant, but this is the first time she’s answered and done his phone calls for him. Dave has a work phone and a personal phone so that he knows which phone not to get pissed off at when it starts ringing when he’s busy. This is his personal phone though, you always call the personal phone. Why the hell is an assistant answering his personal phone? 

“Can I talk to Dave?” you try to ask. You’re suddenly reminded of how scary phone calls are. 

“What’s the reason and who is it?”

“It’s his fucking brother, I think he’d want to talk to me.” 

She doesn’t say anything and you feel stupid for snapping. It’s not her fault. You sigh, listening to some distant voices, and then you hear the assistant ask, “Is this an emergency?” 

You watch the rain come down a little harder. There’s rolling thunder in the distance and you’re the only person outside. The streets of downtown are actually quiet for once and it’s making the pit in your chest feel so empty. Anything you say echoes endlessly through it. 

“No,” you say. 

She tells you to have a good day and hangs up. You sit on the ground, your back against the library’s walls. The ground is turning dark from the rain. The harder the rain falls, the more it seeps out into the dry parts and starts to touch your shoes, but you just watch it and realize you don’t really care if it soaks into your clothes. 

At ten, you call your brother again. No one answers. Of course he doesn’t. You drop your phone and scratch the case on the concrete ground, your fingers running back through your hair in frustration. You’re hurting a lot, but you also feel so numb as the next hour slowly ticks by second by second. Soon it’s ten-thirty. 

At eleven you call again. Nothing. 

At eleven-thirty you’re pants are wet from the rain and you’re shivering. This was stupid. You’re stupid, you’re so fucking stupid. 

Your phone is ringing. You pick it up from the damp ground and see Dave’s caller ID and answer, putting the phone to your ear.

“I’ve been calling,” you say. 

“Where are you?” he asks, but there’s not a lot of emotion in it. 

“Library.”

“It’s fucking pouring out. It’s fuckin’ stormin’ at that.” 

His drawl is coming out. He’s pissed, or frustrated. You remember the time when you were little and he snapped at you for leaving the TV on when it should have been turned off to save on electricity. He’s not really mad at you. He would never really snap at you. 

“Come get me,” you say. “I missed the bus.”

“Yeah. Ten minutes.” 

You hang up before there can be any mind changing. You hug yourself, afraid but also excited. You’ll have to spend ten minutes alone in the car with Dave on the way back to the apartment. If you talk, he’ll have to talk back. It’s the biggest conversation you two will have in six weeks and you’re excited and afraid. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later the sleek red car shows up in front of you. Dave honks the horn. You hug your arms that are uncovered since you only wore a T-shirt (stupid on your part) and rush out into the pouring rain to make a mad dash for Dave’s car and quickly jump into the passenger’s side seat. He says nothing and switches the gear into drive. He doesn’t even complain about you getting the seat wet. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“And you were standing in that storm for how many hours?”

You shrug and start to buckle up. 

He sighs heavily and rests back in the seat. The windshield wipers are swinging back and forth, the view outside getting distorted every few seconds. You didn’t realize the storm would be this bad. Maybe you should have thought of a different plan. 

“How was work?” you try to ask. 

“Fine. Went to a book signing with Rose.” 

“Cool. Was that fun?” 

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” 

It’s been two minutes now. You’re wasting valuable talking time here. Who knows when your next time to chat with Dave will come? Who knows how long he’ll end up ignoring you? You’re eighteen. You could move out. You could get a real store for your robots and live there and Roxy could live with you and you could both own the business together. Maybe you could finally go to college and ditch and just see Dave on holidays where you’ll both fake that everything is okay. 

You can’t do any of that. 

“What did I do?” you blurt. 

“Dirk.”

“What the fuck did I do wrong? You’re killing me, Bro! Do you hate me? I can move out if you’re just going to ignore me forever. I can be alone anywhere, but being alone at home where you just sip your coffee and ignore my fucking eyes at all costs is killing me! What did I do? Was I too forward with the gift? Am I a shitty kisser? Fucking talk to me, please!” 

His elbow is on the door, his hand running through his hair. Because of Hollywood he’s taken extreme care of his hair, but right now it’s a mess and he’s pulling lightly on it and letting it fall across his forehead in layered pieces. Then he sits up straight, both hands on the wheel now. He usually only drives with his right hand. 

“What did I do?” you demand again. Loudly. 

“Nothing!” he yells back. 

God, finally. Sure, it’s fighting, but at least you’re getting somewhere with this situation. 

“You’re a great fucking kisser,” Dave says. “You’re fucking gorgeous and beautiful and you’re so fucking smart. I want to kiss you all the time and I want to fuck you, Dirk. I want to strip you and I want to fuck you.” 

Your eyes are wide and this rush of heat fills your whole body, only from shock. You never expected that. You don’t have to think about it when you decide that you’d love that and that it wouldn’t scare you, it wouldn’t cause you to have a panic attack, you would absolutely love it in every way if your brother took your clothes off and fucked you, right on the soft sheets of his bed, right when this storm is going on out the window. 

“I raised you!” Dave yells, not looking at your expression. “I raised you and you were this weird kid who didn’t let anyone else touch you but me! When you first started talking, you spoke only to me for five months. You cry when other people kiss you, but you’re weak in the knees when I do it.” 

You have to speak before he loses his cool completely. He stares at the road, but you stare at him and whisper, “What’s the problem?” 

“You’re an eighteen-year-old prodigy who has a full life ahead of you. You’re going to have a successful business and you’ll be more famous than me and richer than me and you’re going to find a wonderful husband and have kids that I can buy too many birthday toys for. You’re going to hold his hand down the street, you’re going to kiss him in the park and you’re going to send beautiful Christmas cards with your beautiful children on the front. I have done everything in my fucking power to make sure you weren’t taken from me and shoved in some shitty foster home, I’ve done everything to make sure you’re happy and I refuse to take advantage of you and ruin your future like that!” 

He’s literally panting when he’s done and you’re kind of scared. Dave’s never blown up like this. Your hands are shaking as you watch him suck in a shuddering breath and then rub at his red eyes where you think he’s getting rid of a single tear. He’s not yelling at you, he’s yelling at himself. 

“We can’t hold hands down the street,” you speak softly. He doesn’t verbally or physically respond to your voice so you continue in a calm tone, “We can’t kiss in the park. I don’t want kids anyway. We’d be fucking awful parents.” 

He scoffs, and you think it’s supposed to be a sad version of a laugh. 

“Just tell me you don’t want to be with me,” you say. You’re going to cry now. That pit in your chest is just tearing apart. “Just… break up with me? Make it official that we’ll never do this stuff again. Then we can go back to being brothers. And friends. I’d rather have you in my life and not be your lover rather than have you ignore me like this for another day. It’s hurting me so much, Bro. I can’t do it anymore.” 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. He sounds exhausted. “I should have… Should have known about what I was doing mixed with your anxiety. I must’ve been killing you.” 

You don’t say anything, but you’re still shaking a little. 

“What fucking sucks,” he whispers so softly, so slowly, “is that… I still want you.” 

“We can try. We’ve been together since I was born, Bro. If it doesn’t work out and we break up, nothing will be ruined. We’ll always still be brothers. We’ll be mature about it. I don’t care about kissing in parks or Christmas cards, as long as we’re happy together.” 

He’s making that sound, the shuddering breath. You reach out and touch him for the first time in weeks, rubbing his arm. This entire time the rain has been drumming loudly on the roof of the car and the thunder has been booming closely and the lighting is flashing in the distance. You’ve never been so focused on a single conversation. 

“I don’t know,” he says.

“I need an official answer. I need to know. I need a yes or no. It’s driving me crazy.” 

“Dirk.” He breathes out your name and looks at you. He holds it for a few moments and you’re not scared about him looking away from the road because this is the longest he’s stared at you in over a month and you’re soaking in every moment. 

“ _Please_ ,” you beg.

He looks at the road and his lips part. You hear his voice. 

Light flashes through your window and you glance, expecting to see the lightning disappear, but it’s two headlights that grow large and close until they’re gone because they’re crushing the side of your car. 

As your car skids and flips upside down in the intersection, you don’t think about the screeching metal or the two roaring engines or the breaking glass or Dave screaming your name or the way his hand is shoved painfully to your face as the airbags explode. 

You think about a moment sixteen years ago. You think about your parents screaming at each other just before the crash. It was their fault. You think about after when you were hanging upside down in your car seat, blood dripping from your forehead because of the way your face whiplashed towards the breaking window. 

You couldn’t speak and express much emotion back then. You were alive in your brain, but you had no way of telling anyone. Even as paramedics pried away the rest of the broken glasses and unclasped you from your car seat to pull you out of the wreckage, you couldn’t cry. You wanted to sob and yell for your brother because you were so, so terrified. But your face was flat and you couldn’t speak. You just let the paramedics carry you. You saw your mother flat on the pavement, half of her face too destroyed to recognize. Part of your dad’s body was visible too. His body was too pinned to pull out and wrap up unlike your mother’s. 

You couldn’t ask for help, you couldn’t say what hurt, you couldn’t even point. You couldn’t cry when your forehead was stitched after the glass was pulled out. 

And then your brother came. He came and you saw him and you stood and he picked you up and he _knew_. It was like you had a voice with him. You had a language and he understood it and he clutched you and he said all the right things. 

 

 

Your head feels incredibly heavy. There’s thunder, distant thunder. The rain is drumming and humming. You blink and look up, which is actually down. Your seatbelt is still holding you firmly into your chair, but the whole car is upside down. Your limp arms are lying against the ceiling in a pile of broken glass. 

You move them and look to your right. The window is crushed, but you might be able to get out through the windshield. 

“Dirk. Dirk. Wait.” 

Your head moves, so slowly. You’ve never felt so drowsy. Dave is there, unclipping his seatbelt, which causes him to fall with a thud towards the car’s ceiling. His palm is bloody, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“Wait,” he says again. “Fuck, Dirk. Dirk.”

He’s forcing himself out through his window, into the rain that’s so loud. It’s freaking you out. You try lightly to reach out, but your arm doesn’t feel like responding. You try to call his name. 

Instead, you hear sirens. Dave is at your window now, reaching through and touching your face, turning it. He supports your head and neck with one hand, tilting it up as he tries to undo your seatbelt. 

His hand on your face protected you from all the glass. His hand is so, so cut up. 

He yells a “fuck!” when the seatbelt won’t come undone. You stare in his eyes. His face is covered in rainwater, his body soaked, and you’re positive he’s crying. 

“Talk to me,” he pleads. The sirens are here. There’s an ambulance and two police cars. It’s all so familiar, but the one you need the most is right here, right away. 

“Talk to me!” he begs you, his hands cradling your face spreading his blood on you. 

You stare at him. You try. Your body lets you hold his hand on your cheek, squeezing it, but that’s all you can do. You can’t speak again. Your brain refuses it. It’s muted you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Don't hate me. I took a break or Spring Break and I've got quite a bit of homework but I won't take forever, promise! Let me know what you guys think, I love chatting. :D You can also bug me at my Tumblr (Plajus), I post updates there as well~ Eeeeeeeeyup!


	7. Chapter 7

You are Dave Strider and your brother hasn’t spoken in a month now. He can’t communicate with head shakes and nods very often, and it’s all the quirks he had when he was young, before the nightmare that shook him out of his blocked off state. 

You’ve never wanted to hear him screaming at night so badly. 

A month ago you were kneeling in the street, yelling at your little brother to speak. You were covered in rainwater, soaked to the bone, and your hand was in a lot of pain, but the rain was washing the blood away. Your little brother was stuck upside down in the car, his shades lost somewhere in the crash, and he just stared at you. He showed no emotion except for fear in his eyes that you learned to read ever since he was born. 

When the ambulance showed up, the paramedics pulled you away and told you to stay back and let them take care of it. You watched them support the back of your brother’s head as they sawed through the seatbelt so that he’d fall out of his chair. While they slipped him out through the tiny window you saw two police officers holding back another man who was wearing a leather jacket and didn’t have any hair. He was yelling something and pointing at his pickup truck. The front of the truck was destroyed. 

You walked towards the confrontation. The man was complaining about his ruined truck and said he wanted to go home already. His voice was slurred and he stumbled. He was drunk. He was fucking drunk, you were hit by a fucking a drunk, a _fucking drunk almost killed your little brother_. 

“Sir, sir, no!” the officer yelled. He grabbed your right arm, but you can use both just fine, so you swung your left and popped the drunk right in his jaw. His head whipped to the side and he fell easily since his balance was completely off from the alcohol. 

“He’s drunk!” you yelled. “He’s fucking drunk, he hurt my kid!” You were crying and you were angrier than you had ever been in your life. “We had a green light, he’s fucking drunk!” 

The two police officers were looking at each other. You wretched your arm free and the officer let you go, and by the time the drunk was standing up you were grabbing the front of his jacket and shaking him violently. “You fucking shit, you almost killed my kid! He can’t talk, you _fucking_ fuck!” 

He was mumbling something, and he looked afraid, which is exactly what you wanted. He was pushing against you weakly to get away and he might have been crying. Sure, he was wasted as hell, but he knew what he had done. He knew he had been in a crash and he knew it was his fault and his fear was just what you needed. 

You punched him again, right in the temple, and he collided with the street once more. He was whimpering and apologizing when he stood up and you knew he’d have to live with this forever, so you were too exhausted and overwhelmed to hit him anymore. While you were gasping and wiping your eyes, the second officer held your arm to tug you away from the drunk man, making sure you wouldn’t make another assault. The two officers looked at each other again and one muttered, “We didn’t see anything.” 

So you were never charged for the assault. When the bruises on the drunk’s jaw and head were accounted for he said it was from the car crash. He knew he deserved it. 

By the time you were done letting your anger out, your brother had been safely taken from the wreck. You ran back over, the rain still hard as you pushed between two paramedics so you could hover over Dirk lying on the gurney. 

“He’s unresponsive,” one of the women said. 

“No, no, he’s there,” you said and you held Dirk’s face again. His face was safe and unharmed, no cuts or glass stuck in him, just a white scar on his forehead. Your hand was really hurt, but you kept his face safe. He didn’t deserve another scar. “He’s there,” you continued, “he can’t—he’s mute.” It hurts so much that you had to say that again after ten years. “He needs me with him, he can’t be alone.” 

You were told to step back, at least until they got him in the ambulance. You stood there running your hands through your hair, your entire body shaking, and then one of the paramedics waved at you to hurry up and get in. You were quick to sit next to your brother and you held his hand tightly while Dirk just stared at you, his breathing even and his body relaxed, but you saw the terror hidden deep in his eyes. 

You were given a blanket for your shivering while one paramedic checked over Dirk’s body while his partner asked if she could see your hand. You gave her your bloodied hand to hold and look over, clutching Dirk’s hand in your left. He never stopped staring at you. 

“Talk to me,” you whispered. 

He stared at you. 

You both spent the night in the hospital. Your hand was given way more than a few stiches and wrapped up in gauze that was too thick and it made it hard for you to do normal things like go to the bathroom or open doorknobs, and without the adrenaline from the car crash you were forced to face all the pain that came with the cuts. 

Dirk was unharmed. He was bruised badly on his shoulder and hips from the seatbelt and he had a few scraps, but otherwise he was unharmed. Yet he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t respond. He grunted when doctors tried to help him, but he stayed still and let them do their job if you were there in the room with him. The next morning you called for bodyguards and for a private ride home because you knew there would be swarms of paparazzi that wanted to know about the crash. 

When you wheeled Dirk out to the car you covered him in your jacket to keep his face hidden. The bodyguards helped get him into the car and kept all the idiots with cameras away from you and your brother. You held Dirk’s gaze in the car and you could tell he was scared. He managed to control his body though and he reached out, grabbing your arm. He was afraid of driving. 

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered. 

You closed the car door and turned around. You let them take your picture. They kept yelling. They kept asking what had happened, was it true you punched the other driver, was Dirk injured, what happened to your hand, will this affect your future interviews and scheduling, will you still be working on movies, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. 

You held your hand out to quiet them and stood up straighter, showing that you were going to make a statement. Recorders were held out towards you and cameras covered human faces so that they’d be pointed straight at you. 

“How dare you,” you said as your first words. “How dare all of you. I was in an accident. With my little brother. I could have died and he could have died. We were both hurt and we are both still in shock. And you monsters show up when we’re just trying to go home so we can heal both mentally and physically. You ask about my movies when my kid is sitting terrified in this car of you piranhas. You will turn your cameras off now or I will sue every one of you individually, and your companies, and I will use every cent of my money until I’m poor if that’s what it takes to punish you all.” 

There was a very long silence until one man very close to you clicked a button on his camera and lowered it off of his shoulder, letting it hang in front of him instead. The others stared at him and then the lights on their cameras turned off and the ones holding recorders lowered them and put them away in their pockets, the mass of them looking guilty like scolded children. You were still pissed off, but you felt better. 

And then you took your shades off. You stared at them all and said, “You can quote me on this later: I’m taking a long time off. I don’t want to see a single one of you near my home or near me or near my brother until I go back to work again.” 

Quite a few of them nodded. You put your shades back on and got into the car, your body shaking lightly. Dirk held your sleeve the whole ride home and there was no paparazzi waiting at the front doors. 

That night, you tried to talk to Dirk a lot. You asked him if he felt okay at least ten times and he nodded to only three of the times you asked. He didn’t react when you asked if he wanted takeout so you ordered Chinese and he ate half from his box before he went to bed without saying a word or looking at you. In the morning you asked him if you could see his bruises. He didn’t nod and he didn’t react when you tugged down on his shirt collar. He walked away to make cereal when you were done and then he opened his laptop to write codes you didn’t understand, hardly making eye contact with you all day.

 

 

It’s been a month. He hasn’t spoken. He’s grunted a few times when he’s not happy. Otherwise you haven’t heard your brother speak in an entire month and you’re falling apart. Right now Dirk is sewing. You got him a sewing machine last Christmas and he’s been making stuffed animals and outfits. Roxy buys him the fabric. 

You’re writing on your laptop. You’re using your time off to write a new script. It’s not a book adaptation and it’s not something ironic like your old comics. It’s real and it’s personal and you’re not sure if it will ever hit the screens, but writing this out has helped you with your nerves, especially at night when you’re wracked with guilt and memories that make you cry into your pillow the same way you used to back in that crummy apartment. It’s a script of your life.

“Is that for Roxy?” you ask. 

Dirk’s foot lets up on the pedal. He’s focused, and you’re probably blocked out. He doesn’t reply to you, he just twists the fabric around that he’s working on and then presses on the pedal to start the machine up again and continue his sewing. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He leans close, pushing the purple cloth under the needle. The sewing machine hums and thrums. 

“Dirk, look at me.” 

Surprisingly, he stops. The room is very quiet as he sits up straighter and turns his head, his amber eyes meeting yours. He waits as you stare at the scar on his forehead and then look into his eyes once more. You have his attention, but there’s no way for him to reply to you and you can tell he’s just as frustrated as you are, so you don’t ask him anymore questions. You just stare at him until he turns away and goes back to sewing. 

For dinner you make ramen, mixing two packs together and stirring in some veggies and an egg for extra protein. When you call Dirk to come eat, he responds. It’s just like when he was young. He can brush his teeth, he can shower, he still builds and codes and does stuff with Roxy for their growing business, but he can’t communicate. 

When you eat across from him at the table, you see his frustration. He seems to just stare at his ramen, but deep in his eyes you can see him glaring at it. He never asked to be trapped inside himself like this. At least he’s not with someone who doesn’t understand him, some foster family who would only think he was stupid. You know him. You’ve always known him. 

He cleans up his sewing machine and you call goodnight to him, but he only touches your shoulder as he passes you. Before he disappears down the hallway, you clutch his arm. He grunts, but you pull on him until he’s pressed to your chest and you hold him so closely, your face buried in his hair. He smells so nice, he smells the same way he did the night you kissed him. 

The night you kissed him.

You try then, some part of you thinking it will desperately pull him out of this trap he’s stuck in. You tilt his head up and your face brushes down his cheek, lips against his jaw. The last time you did this with him he was shivering and weak under your touch, he was so beautifully nervous and the way his fingers curled in, stuck in midair before they found your waist, is an image you’ll have forever. 

You kiss him softly, your lips closing around his lower lip. When you pull away and stare at him, he’s expressionless. For once, you can’t read him. He doesn’t grunt, he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t kiss back either. He hardly moves. 

With a shaky sigh, you stroke a hand down his soft hair and whisper goodnight. Dirk’s hand moves in a weak swing as if his fingers might catch onto your waist or your own hand, but his fingers fall down again as he turns and leaves you standing there, staring down an empty and dark hallway. His bedroom door clicks shut. 

You consider finding a glass to throw against the wall for a release of frustration. Instead, you go to bed. You want Dirk to wake up screaming. It’s a horrible thing to wish for, he was so terrified after that nightmare, but you need you brother back. 

 

 

“You’re hand looks good,” Rose says. 

You turn your hand over, your right one that’s full of healing scars. White bumps and red ones that are concaved. You can still use it for things like driving and writing, but you have to use more strength because of a few damaged muscles and because your skin is a lot tighter from the tough scars. 

You just didn’t want to see your brother bleeding again, not like when he was four. His forehead has been so wounded, even if it was easily stitched and patched.

“Protected him, didn’t you?” Rose says next. 

You’re at a café with her. There are no paparazzi around. Your statement about privacy has been taken very seriously and the only things in the news about you is sympathy. You’re so tired of “get better soon” tweets. Even the ones from Ellen and Wilson.

“The window shattered on his side,” you say, “and I didn’t want him with another scar.”

“So you fucked your hand up.”

“Still works.”

“A.K.A. you can still jack off.” 

“Dude.”

She smiles sweetly and sips from her tea. You’re both dressed down. She’s in a sweater and leggings and you have a jacket and jeans on. Your shades are on, but she knows that you’d take them off if you were alone with her, but some girl in the corner has already tried to take pictures of the two of you on her IPhone, so you’re trying to ignore it. You’re lucky the piranhas aren’t here. 

Rose’s cup makes a light noise as she sets it down at the small table you’ve chosen in the corner of the café. Then she says, “Roxy told me.”

“Told you what?”

“About you and your brother.” 

Your face heats up, but you don’t necessarily feel threatened or afraid that Rose is going to out you to the media, or that she’ll sever your friendship. The heat actually fades after only a moment and you stop squeezing your mug of apple spiced coffee. 

“She told Dirk what I’m going to tell you. You’re not hurting anyone, Dave. No one needs to know and your happiness and Dirk’s is all that matters. It’s not like you two are going to fuck in the open. Right in the park. Invite the paparazzi and—”

“Rose.”

“Right. You get my point though, yes?”

You sigh and rip open another sugar packet to pour in your coffee. This is the fifth one. “Yes,” you agree. “I just… aren’t there weird genes inside all of us? Shit that keeps siblings away from each other.” 

“Sure, but you and Dirk aren’t just any siblings. He’s been different since birth, he’s a genius and he doesn’t fall easily into social conformities. One time when we were all having a Skype call I called him a cute boy and he said ‘the gender binary is stupid and so are the designated rules put there by the society’s unnecessary norms.’” 

You scoff and grin, because you remember that. The moment that Dirk learned to speak he was spitting out weird stuff like that all the time. By the time he reached middle school he was a walking book of fun facts. 

“You’re the only one he trusted,” Rose continues. “You know I’m sorry about your parents’ passing, even when I know how they treated you, but your mother wasn’t his mother. You’ve always been the parent. Dirk was an accident, just like Roxy, but sometimes accidents are exactly what we need. Our kids are miracles, Dave.” 

“I know.”

“They are, really. There are millions of sperm, so many different eggs that could have formed. What if your father hadn’t been born? Your grandfather? There are trillions of different timelines that could have happened, but you’re living this one. You got Dirk.”

Usually you would be cracking a joke because Rose talked about sperm and eggs, but damn. She’s right. Dirk could have not been born at all, or you could not have been born. He could have been born “normal,” but you don’t want that. You want this life, and you can do what you want with it. Hell, look at how far you’ve come. You used to starve to feed your kid and now you can have an assistant fetch you Starbucks every morning. 

And you’re in love with your brother. 

“Maybe that’s what I need,” you mutter.

“Hm?”

“I… we kissed.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“Dirk told Roxy. Roxy told me. We don’t have many secrets in our family. You’ve been writing a lot lately, haven’t you?”

“He talks online?” 

“Sometimes. Roxy said it’s not like he can write on paper right in front of you for communication. He texts when he wants to, when his body lets him. Not face to face. Make sense?” 

You nod and immediately pull out your phone in hope. You can’t call him, he won’t speak, but you send Dirk a simple text, something casual, and you ask him if he’d like you to bring him home a drink from the café. 

“Why just me?” you ask as you put your phone down. “He told me that he cried when Jake touched him. But with me…” 

“He’s probably demisexual,” Rose says. “Need a bond before physical contact.” 

You nod, a lot of Dirk’s past making sense now. You’re still learning a lot of terms, but you’ve heard that one somewhere before. 

“Do you think I’m gross?” you ask softly.

“Stop being fucking stupid. You supported me through my teenage pregnancy, I’m going to support you loving someone. He’s eighteen, he’s an adult, a genius adult, and I know you. I know you two will be honest and healthy with each other.”

You can’t meet her eyes, but you do reach across the table and hold her hand. She holds yours back, your unmarked left hand. You study her nails that look so beautiful and nice and watch the way her thumb rubs your skin. You know you’d probably be okay without having ever met Rose, but God are you glad she’s a part of your life. She’s one of your favorite perks. 

“Let’s take a cab home together,” Rose says after a bit. “I can take Roxy home. She and Dirk were going to make the website for their business today.” 

“I bet they’re having tons of fun with that.” 

You stand with Rose and you hold her purse as she slips into her cardigan. You hold the door open for her on your way out, but before she flags down a taxi your phone vibrates. You check and see that Dirk’s replied to you with “Plain black coffee.” You tell Rose to wait for you in the taxi and you quickly head back inside to get Dirk his order, pay for it, and then take the warm drink back out with you. 

When you arrive at the building you lead Rose through the parking lot until you reach the large garage with “Strider” across the door. You put in the passcode and let the door lift to find Dirk at his desktop, working with focus, and Roxy resting on the secondhand couch from Goodwill with that ironic floral design that you can only image being worn by an old lady that knows how to bowl moderately well.

“Let’s head home, dear,” Rose says. 

“We’re working totes hard over here, Mom,” Roxy says, but her face is in her phone. 

“You look like you’re working incredibly hard. Now get your butt up. Mama’s making dinner.” 

Roxy peeks up slowly from over her phone. “What kind of dinner…?” 

“Halal and rice.” 

“Gotta go, Beef Dirky!” She pops up from the couch and goes to Dirk, hugging him from behind and kissing his cheek. He leans into her, but does nothing more. Roxy lingers over his shoulder, looking at him, the screen, and then she just sighs softly and runs a hand through his hair before she walks away to join her mother. 

“I’ll call you,” you say to Rose and you give her a short hug, leaving a kiss on her cheek before she wraps an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and they both leave together. When they’re out of the parking garage you head into Dirk’s workshop, stepping over pieces of metal. Squarewave is sitting in the corner, plugged up into Dirk’s laptop. 

“Got you your coffee,” you say, setting it beside his hand that’s on his mouse. 

His website is on the screen. Strilonde Robotics. He’s deleting pink backgrounds that were probably chosen by Roxy and replacing them with neutral colors and uploading example pictures of robots he’s made. 

He sips from the coffee that’s cooled down by now and then goes back to editing his webpage. You hover there for a while and he doesn’t get nervous from it, not the way he would if you were someone else. You lift a hand and rest it on the back of his neck, a few fingers gently stroking at the nape where his blond hairs lay flat rather than point backwards from him constantly running his fingers back through it. 

“Hey, kid,” you say softly. You crouch next to him, your hand stroking back through his hair and down his arm until you’re pulling his hand away from the mouse and holding his hand in both of yours. He looks away from the computer screen and meets your eyes. 

“I never answered you,” you say. “In the car. Last month. I do want to be with you.” You squeeze his hand and love that he’s holding your eye contact right now. He doesn’t have any expression, but he’s staring at you, and that’s what counts right now. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever needed in my life, Dirk,” you continue. “My answer is yes, and I’m sorry I ever yelled at you, I’m sorry I ignored you after we kissed, it was a wonderful kiss and I want to be with you. We can be brothers and we can be lovers too.” 

He stares at you. 

Lightly, you tug his hand and give it a shake. “Dirk. Please. I want to be with you.” 

He doesn’t move, he just looks at you.

You’re desperate and your eyes sting as you lean up and hold his face to kiss him. Just once, deeply, and then you pull away and look at him. He’s expressionless, still holding your gaze. You kiss him again, a little harder, and then speak softly against his lips, “Talk to me. Please. I want to be with you, I do.”

He doesn’t kiss you back and he doesn’t even reach for you and you can’t read his eyes. He’s just… staring.

You collapse back to your knees, your face in your arms as you hide against his lap. Your muscles are tight as your eyes sting and then suddenly you’re crying, clutching at the fabric of his pants or at his hand, shaking and just crying like a child. You want him back. You want your kid back. If you hadn’t been fighting in the car with him or yelling, if you hadn’t ignored him in the first place then you never would have gotten in the crash, never would have knocked him back into this state. This is your fault. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter between your tears. 

A few moments later there’s a pressure on your head. He’s touching your hair. He doesn’t stroke it or play with it, he just lays it there and his fingers are limp after. He can hardly react in the way he wants to at all, so the fact that he was able to make this tiny action of comfort is huge of him, he must have done everything in his power to touch your head like that. 

You lift your head and hold your brother’s hand, kissing his knuckles and sniffling through the rest of your tears. 

In the end, he doesn’t speak. You stand up and kiss his forehead and drag yourself up to the apartment where you start writing. At midnight Dirk comes back inside and tosses a few of his things onto the coffee table. Instead of going to bed, he sits beside you on the couch sideways so that he’s facing you. He reaches out, touches your laptop. 

“Just writing,” you say. 

One of his fingers curl up so that the fingertip can tap against your laptop. 

“New script,” you say.

He’s staring at you, scratching the edge of your laptop. 

“None of your business.”

He makes a small grunt and gets up, finally going to bed. You look back at your computer screen where the last page of your script is. Or at least the latest. You can’t think of a good ending. It’s not like there will be a movie anytime soon where the whole world will see a reenactment of your life, so you start writing about your thirty-first birthday and Dirk’s eighteenth. You write about what it felt like to kiss him. You don’t go to bed until four in the morning. 

 

 

In the morning you wake up with something pressed against your head. You fell asleep on the couch and you lift your head to find out you were pressed against Dirk’s thigh. He’s still in his pajamas and he has your laptop open on his knees while he leans close. There’s some silence. Then he taps on the down arrow. 

“What are you doing?” you mutter. 

He doesn’t move. He presses the down arrow. You sit up and lean over his shoulder to look at the screen and you recognize the script you’ve been working on all month and you get nervous because there are secrets in there. The times you sold yourself, the times you starved yourself. The times you cried alone. 

You remind yourself that he already knows all of this. He’s a genius. 

“Dirk? Want some breakfast?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react, just reads. You get up and make yourself coffee, but you keep staring at Dirk most of the time. He never moves. He’s in the same position and the only movements he ever makes are the tapping of the down arrow to scroll through the script that he found open in that Word document. 

It takes him several hours to read the whole thing. At one point you sit on the coffee table and face him, watching his amber eyes scan side to side, side to side, endlessly. He won’t even get up to pee or eat. He’s stuck. Reading. 

You take a shower and when you come back, he’s still reading. You know he has to be close to the end though, so you’re just waiting for him to finish. You want to see if you can read into his eyes like you’re usually so good at doing, you want to see what he thinks of it. You want him to love it so badly. 

A little after noon, he looks up. He looks up and he looks at you. He meets your eyes and for a few moments you can’t read him. 

Then his face contorts and tenses. 

“Dirk? I’m not—that last scene isn’t for any screen. It’s not even going to be a movie. I just wanted to write it. For me.” 

“It’s great,” he says. 

You gasp and cover your mouth. You never knew how much you were in love with his voice until you were kept away from it for so long and now you’re obsessed with that sound and you shove your laptop away so you can grab him and clutch him to your chest, cradling his head to your shoulder. 

“Dirk. Oh, Dirk. Fuck. I love you.” 

He clutches back onto you and you can feel his body moving, responding. He has control of it again, and it lets him hold you and you feel his fingers tighten in his hair as he shakes, but he’s there. He was always there, but now he’s really there and he’s really holding you and you’re so happy and afraid all at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“No, no, it’s okay, oh God, it’s okay baby. It’s fine. It was my fault.”

“No—”

“Yes, it was, just forgive me. Forgive me, please.” 

You keep holding him and sway gently. You might cry again, but right now you’re just focused on the moment, the sensation of holding him in your arms and actually being clutched back. He’s so incredibly warm. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your shoulder. 

“I love you. I do. In every way.” You pull away and hold his face and he looks at you, he really looks at you. He has emotion and he’s smiling a little even though he looks nervous as hell, but it’s emotion and that’s what counts, he’s not restricted, he’s not a walking zombie. 

“Every way?” 

“Every way.” 

He glances towards your lips and leans in slightly, pushing against the hold you have on his cheeks. Then he whispers, “I’ve been here. You know that?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve always been here, I heard you last night.” 

When he leans in again, you meet him. You kiss him firmly, your thumbs rubbing his cheeks and you recognize that sharp intake of breath that goes through his nose and you can feel that shiver running through him, just like last time. You love his reactions. You love the way his breath stutters when you part your lips, gently forcing his mouth open so you can slide your tongue in and you love the way he loves it and wants to go faster, but you make it slow and you make him shake in anticipation. 

You’re kissing him so much heavier than last time. You make his head tilt to the side and his shivering hands hold your neck and then touches your chest, just trying to find a safe spot to leave his hands with comfort. You smile against his lips and grab his hands, putting them both on your waist to help him, and then you’re holding his face again and feeling his fingers tighten up down on your hips. 

Your lips are damp when you pull away and you feel him trying to follow you to kiss you again, and this extremely soft whine comes out of him. It’s fucking beautiful. 

“Wanna go eat snails?” you murmur. 

“It’s not our birthday,” he whispers back. 

“McDonald’s.” 

“Drive through.”

“Deal.” 

You give him another kiss, something so casual, something that lovers do. Then you hold his hand, another thing couples do. And you’re not worried. Falling in love with Dirk is the last of worries after having him so distant this last month, and now that you have him back and he’s yours again, loving your brother doesn’t feel like a big deal anymore. 

When you drive with him, you can’t stop smiling. You hold his hand in the car even and Dirk keeps smirking and looking out the window. 

“Something funny?” you ask. 

“Can’t believe this is real,” he says. 

You chuckle and squeeze his hand. “You scared?”

“A little.” 

“From the car or this?”

“Both. But it’s okay.”

“I fucking missed you.”

He looks over at you and you can see his eyes over the top of his shades. His smile is a little sad before he looks out the window to his right. It’s a new car and all the windows are shatterproof and it got an A+ in the crash tests. It’s not as pretty as your last car, but you only cared about safety in this case. 

His thumb rubs your hand, across one of your knuckles that has a thick scar. “I was here the whole time,” he says. 

“I know.”

He keeps his eyes closed most of the ride. He admits that the image of headlights scares him now and he makes you let go of his hand so that you can put both hands on the steering wheel safely. If it makes him relax, of course you’ll listen.

He doesn’t talk much for the rest of the day, but he’s really there. He’s always been there, but now you can really talk and you can really look at him and feel him looking back. You eat McDonald’s with him on your couch and you feed each other fries while you watch stupid shows because you both keep fighting over sitcoms and some science show that Dirk wants. You fall asleep with him on the couch, his head on your shoulder, your nose in his hair and your fingers intertwined. 

 

 

You’ve had bad nightmares before, but a few days after Dirk “comes back” you have one about the car crash. You’ve always known that things like bad car crashes can cause some mental scarring or PTSD, but you’ve just known. Never understood. Now you really get it and you understand why Dirk closes his eyes during car rides all the times. He likes to pretend he’s somewhere else. 

You understand the nightmares he used to get. You don’t wake up screaming like Dirk did when he was young, but you wake with a rattling gasp as your body flings into an upright position. You dreamed about the fight you had with Dirk, and you couldn’t understand what was being said, but you know you were yelling and he was crying and suddenly you saw the car coming and your hand was on his face to protect him. In your dream, Dirk died. It felt so real. You watched his head whiplash and you saw glass stab into his forehead and you heard the crunch of his neck and a dead glazed look in his eyes. 

When you woke up, everything deep in the pit of your soul was in pain. The dream was so real and you really thought he was dead in front of you. Too real. 

You’re still gasping and you’re covered in sweat and you’re crying, but you’re not embarrassed by it. You fucking hate nightmares. You rub your face in the blankets to get rid of the sweat and then shove the comforter away, air hitting your legs, and you’re glad you’re only in briefs so that you can cool down. 

“Bro.”

You make another gasp from being startled and turn to see your brother standing in the doorway, his shape dark and silhouetted. 

“Bad dream. I’m okay.” 

“About the crash?” 

You nod, a few soft gasps still coming out as you slow down the tears. You wipe your eyes and see Dirk coming towards you. Even though you’ve agreed that you want to be with him all you’ve done is hold his hand and make out with him some and cuddling with him on the couch. He hasn’t spent the night in your bed and you haven’t gone any farther than the kissing. 

Yet, you scoot over. Dirk slips in next to you and he puts his chin on your shoulder, his hand rubbing up his back. 

“They go away,” he whispers. 

You nod. You know they’ll go away. But right now it just fucking sucks. 

You grab Dirk’s legs and put them across your lap so that you can clutch him to your chest, cradling his head to your neck and holding him like he’s an infant. He’s still your baby though, and he always will be. You stop crying, but you don’t let go because you need this comfort right now, and Dirk’s hand is spread against your chest, rubbing in firm circles to help you remember to breathe slowly and calmly. 

You don’t have to ask him to stay. Your skin grows cold again and you let go of your brother so that you can lay down again and Dirk joins you as you pull the blankets up over your bodies. You lay on your back and Dirk lays on his side, pressed against you with his head resting on your chest, his arm slung over your stomach while your fingertips run gently up and down his back. 

Dirk reaches out after a bit and takes your right hand that was resting near his on your stomach and he brings it to his mouth until his lips are gently brushing over the different scars, the same way someone presses the smooth metal of a marble to your lips, or the soft fur of a pet. His eyes close briefly and he stops brushing, his lips pursing out into a gently kiss to the back of your hand until he’s cupping your hand to his cheek. You wonder if he can feel all the scars at once there. Your thumb rubs gently on his cheek until you run your touch up to his forehead until you find his own scar and make two scars touch and then you’re running your fingers back through his soft hair. 

For a while, neither of you sleep. Your rub his back and stare at the ceiling fan that isn’t on, and you can feel Dirk’s chest lifting and resting, pressed against your ribs. You remember the first time he fell asleep on your chest when he was a newborn and you felt like you knew every answer to the world right then. Everything made sense. 

When he falls asleep you turn your head and stare at him. His lips are parted and you can feel his warm breath on his skin every time he breathes out. His fingers are gently curled against your stomach and you run a fingertip down one knuckle and across each kink in his pointer finger until you can feel the smooth surface of his fingernail. It’s longer. He hasn’t been biting. 

 

 

Dirk is still quiet, but he’s coming out of his bad state slowly. He talks to you, just like back when he first started speaking when he was little. He can react to Roxy when they work now and say simple words, but he’s making his way back. He’s making great money and his website is up and he works four days a week making robots and new AIs to sell. He still has enough time for his own projects on the side and when you ask him if doing this makes him happy he nods enthusiastically. And that makes you really happy. 

You’re enjoying your time off. It’s been six weeks and you’ve just been writing and spending time with your brother. Last week you even had a lunch date with John and Rose. He’s on a comedy tour with other stand-up guys and it was extremely fun to have the gang back together. You don’t tell John about you and Dirk. But this secret doesn’t hurt being a secret. It feels safe and you have Rose to back you up in this case. It’s not you and Dirk against the world, you have people you trust that you can share this love with. 

Dirk says he’ll probably never tell Jake, but maybe one day he and Roxy could share with Jane. You tell him to just… be careful. It’s not that you’re ashamed of him, and he knows that. You both understand that it’s the media. It’s the paparazzi, it’s the society that looks down on you. It’s the mass of people in this world that would call your happiness and love disgusting and sinful. 

It hurts that if this lasts, he won’t have kids. He won’t get married, he won’t kiss you in the park. You tell him this again. He’s been sleeping in your bed every other night and you whisper these things to him while facing him in the dark. He rests his cheek in his palm and sighs. 

“Don’t want kids,” he says. “I have Roxy.” 

You scoff lightly and you can see the outline of his smile in the dark. “A wedding,” you try.

“Don’t need it. We’re rich, we don’t need the benefits. It’s just a tradition humans have developed.” 

“Public displays of affection.”

“That’s gross. I like it private.” 

“What if I have to lie for the media?”

“That’s fine, I know the consequences. Even if you have to pretend to date someone for a little while, I know how it really is. I know how you feel about me.” 

You can’t think of anything else. He knows you’re not trying to make him change his mind, you’re just trying to make sure that _he’s_ sure.

“It’s just you,” Dirk breathes out. His finger is scratching gently at a scar over your tendon. “It’s just you…” 

You lean in, the blankets and sheets rustling lightly in the silence. You give him a firm kiss on the lips and then his forehead before you pull him into your chest and sigh into his hair so that you can relax and start dozing off for sleep. But before you pass out, Dirk whispers again. 

“You love it, right? Your script.”

“Yeah. It was good. I liked writing it.”

“You should make it a movie.” 

You heave a short sigh, rubbing his back. “I’d need to find an actor for you.” 

“No, I get to choose an actor for me,” he scoffs against your collarbone. 

“Fine, fine. The point is, our life will be seen. By everyone.” 

“Only what you want them to see. You love it. I love our life. You don’t gotta show us together, that’s obvious. But… I support this. I know you loved working on _Complacency of the Learned_ but I also know you got frustrated following a book rather than writing whatever you wanted. But in this case, it’s yours. It’s literally our story and I know you want to make it. This is what you need. Reliving it might make you release it.” 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Rose.”

“No, Roxy. Rose rubs off on her.”

“Now I have to psychoanalyze Rose and we’ll have come full circle.” 

He chuckles again softly, and then it’s silent for a while. The fan is on this time, making a humming white noise. You close your eyes, your limbs loose around him. “Okay,” you agree softly. He doesn’t reply, his breathing already even with sleep. 

 

 

Dirk is on the phone. You got a call not long ago and they asked for Dirk Strider, the owner of Strilonde Robotics and you handed off the phone to your brother after going all the way downstairs to his workshop where he was cleaning up Squarewave. Someone accidentally spilt Coke on him. Not you. So not you. 

You’ve been sitting on his floral couch, wearing Dirk’s shades so that you can chat with Hal. You’re half listening to the conversation going on, but you hear Dirk’s voice becoming a little nervous even though he’s saying polite things like “Yeah, no, yeah, that’s cool, I can do that. Probably. Yeah. Yeah.” He’s pulling on his hair. His fingernail goes to his mouth. 

You tell Hal to message you later so that you can continue conversation on a good ending for your movie, but then you set the shades down on Dirk’s desk so that you can stand behind him, your hand gently resting on the back of his neck and rubbing lightly. You feel his muscles loosen up under your touch so you start rubbing his shoulders and smile to yourself. 

When he hangs up, you don’t have to ask. He sighs shakily and rubs his eyes. He’ll talk when he’s ready. So you keep rubbing his shoulders for a few minutes until he grabs your right hand and rubs over your knuckles in some return massage. 

“That was UCLA.” 

“Did they want you to enroll there?”

“No, no… They want me to give a lecture. At one of the auditoriums. Some students have gotten things from my site, stuff Roxy and I built, and sometimes Hal can open up chats on the site for customers who have questions. The computer science majors, the engineers, they’ll all be there. They want me to give a lecture on AIs for an hour.”

“Wow…” Your thumb rubs the skin exposed over the collar of his shirt. 

“I said yes but I’m terrified. Why did I say yes? I’ll puke. I’ll throw up on the third row, just like _Pitch Perfect_ , Bro.” 

“No, you won’t. Shh.”

“I will, Hal will make fun of me while I fall and vomit from the anxiety.”

“Dirk.”

“I’ll forget what to say and professionals will be there, they’ll all watch and laugh, I’ll be a joke—Bro.” 

Your lips are on his neck. You kiss softly and slowly down to his shoulder and then back up to his jaw. He shivers under you and he stops talking completely. You leave a wet kiss behind his ear, having no intention to start anything heated, but when your rub your hands up his neck, palm running across his throat, he moans. He outright moans and you can feel him heating up in embarrassment. 

“You’re going to be fine,” you say, changing the topic so that he knows it’s okay. “There is no advice that will make you stop being afraid. We both know this. No matter what advice I give, you’re going to have a racing heart and sweaty palms. It happens every time I do an interview. People tell me to stay calm, don’t worry, but I worry. I always worry. And then it just happens. I do the interview, and somewhere in the middle of it I always feel silly for having been afraid in the first place, because suddenly I’m having fun. You’re going to be scared. And then ten minutes in while you’re on stage you’re going to feel _good_. I promise.”

He’s shaking, but he nods. He tilts his head and you kiss his neck and cheek and then make him turn his head so you can kiss his lips slowly. You’re not afraid anymore either. Somewhere in the middle of all this you stopped being scared and started to realize that you’re just falling in love. 

 

 

Dirk understands when you have a meeting right before his big lecture. You rush through it, doing edits on the script and talking about sets and actors and hiring a crew that will help you make this thing happen. 

You’re running late when you finish your meeting and get in your car. You speed, a little. But it’s for a good reason. The parking lot is packed and you find a spot in the back. It’s getting dark out and you see signs up on poles as you jog between the large buildings on campus to find the right one where the lecture is taking place. On your way you rip one of the posters off of the wall so you can frame it and put it up next to your very first _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff_ poster.

You read the poster in your hands as you jog. You’re two minutes late. It says: UCLA PRESENTATION. DIRK STRIDER, CREATOR OF WORLD’S MOST INTELLEGENT AI. JAN. 17th SEVEN PM. BOVARD AUDITORIUM. BE THERE OR BE A SERVANT IN THE ROBO-POCALYPSE. 

You fold it and tuck it in your jacket. You dressed down in the car so that you’re wearing a loose button up over an old Game Bro shirt with blue jeans. You also wasted a minute putting brown eye contacts in. You didn’t want anyone to recognize you and you have a black beanie on to hide your hair. Tonight is Dirk’s night and your fame will not ruin that for him. 

You find the building and slip into the auditorium. The place is packed full. Professors and students are even standing up in the back or along the aisle to watch. You’re only three minutes late. Up on the stage there’s a large screen with red words on it to show that Dirk’s already been talking to Hal.

And right in the middle of the stage is your kid. He’s wearing his favorite purple hoodie and he’s wearing his shades and black skinnies. He looks great. He looks nervous. 

“Excuse me,” you whisper, your hand on a stranger’s shoulder to get by them. You make your way down the middle aisle because Dirk said he had a reserved spot and sure enough in the first row you see tape on a seat with a sign that has your name on it. You quietly take the tape and sign away and set it on the floor before you take your spot and look up towards your little brother. 

He was in the middle of stuttering something about the neurotransmitter connection in his shades’ arms. Then he sees you. You know he took his pills this morning, along with an extra before the lecture, but you could tell it wasn’t working. Not until he saw you.

He starts to smile and you smile back. You want to yell “That’s my kid!” so badly, but you stay in your seat. You take in a deep breath and exaggerate it. He copies you. Then he straightens his back and faces the audience again. 

“I programmed Hal to develop based off of personal experiences, the same way humans grow their personalities based on different situations we’ve been in. Someone who’s been lied to a lot may not trust people as easily. Someone who hasn’t experienced many bad times might have a happier attitude and a stronger faith. Hal was made to grow into his own personality in the same way,” Dirk says and his voice comes out of the speakers placed all around the auditorium. He’s wearing a microphone that’s clipped to the collar of his hoodie. 

Another voice comes out of the speakers then, and it sounds human, but with a slightly electronic tone to it. “I love my personality.” The same words appear up on the screen in red. You didn’t know that Dirk had programmed a voice with Hal’s system, he must have done it before the presentation. It doesn’t sound like Siri, it sounds so real. 

“He’s okay,” Dirk says and the audience chuckles. 

Then Hal’s voice comes through. “Watch what you say or I’ll start my robot takeover right now.” 

The whole audience laughs again and you chuckle too and Dirk just beams. You can see it happening. The idea that he was being silly for ever having worried because he’s falling into the groove of things and feeling good. 

Dirk starts to show examples of Hal’s ability to be self-aware and understand all context. They have a conversation together in front of everyone and chat about the existence of humans and what the concept of love really means. Hal’s responses shock the audience because he’s definitely nothing like Cleverbot. He talks like a real human. Even the professor sitting next to you whispers a “holy shit” under her breath. 

Dirk asks Hal to display his codes and a whole bunch of numbers and word and symbols that you don’t understand show up on the screen. Dirk highlights different parts and uses phrases and terms you don’t understand, but the audience occasionally reacts to him with soft exclamations or light sounds of shock when they see something that makes them think “Why did I never think of that?” 

Dirk is the master of thinking of things before anyone else thinks of it.

Your brother is enjoying himself. He walks back and forth across the stage as if he’s done it a million times before and he cracks jokes with Hal and he has the audience either busting their guts or absolutely staring in awe at the work he’s done. Eventually he takes questions and he answers each one with ease and he lets audience members come up to try talking with his AI. The students have tons of fun chatting with Hal and getting sarcastic or intelligence answers that they would never expect. 

You haven’t stopped smiling. 

Ten minutes after eight, Dirk finally concludes his closing statement and gives a bow while Hal says something crude but funny. 

You get to your feet first. “THAT’S MY KID!” you yell, and it’s instantly covered up in the cheers that surround you. Every professor and student stands up, backpacks dropped to the floor as the applause lasts so much longer than any applause you’ve ever gotten, and he deserves every bit of it. He looks right at you, still smiling and waving to the crowd. This is better than any science fair he’s ever won. 

 

 

Dirk is overtaken with happiness and adrenaline the whole ride home. He’s practically vibrating in his seat as he talks about the lecture. 

“I really almost threw up,” he says. “Like, right before I went out I was bent over a garbage can, but then I was introduced and had to go up. I thought I was going to explode. Oh man, it was so quiet, Bro, you wouldn’t believe it, it was like those moments in movies when the crickets are chirping, they were all waiting for me to talk. You know what I said?”

“What did you say?”

“I just said hi. And they all laughed, but it was a good laugh, and it made me feel a little better. I kept shaking though, and then Hal started talking for a good minute. He’s a good robot, ya know?”

“I know.”

“And then I saw you sitting down and I just—it was nice. I know you had that big meeting, I can’t believe you got there on time. It was nice.” 

“Good. You were amazing, Dirk. You were so amazing.” 

He reaches over and holds your hand. He doesn’t care that you have one hand on the wheel and his eyes are even open, staring at the road. You’re happy that he’s happy. 

You take him out to Perkins and your legs touch under the table as you both eat breakfast after nine at night. When you’re both full of bacon and pancakes you drive him home and he holds your hand again while smiling out the window and continuing to talk about his favorite parts and how he’d love to do it again and how he’s considering sitting in on a few classes at the university. He doesn’t want to be a full time student but he’d love to be around other professionals to see if he can learn more. 

He’s still talking when you park and on the way up to the apartment in the elevator. He’s still talking down the hall and he’s talking while you unlock the door. When you get inside and close the door you grab your little brother’s shoulders, shove his back to the door, and make him shut up by latching your lips onto his. 

He makes a short “mgh!” into your mouth, but he responds after only a moment. He kisses back and you make sure he doesn’t have to worry about what to do with his hands, because you’re pinning his arms do the door and making him work by only using the tilt of his head, his lips and his tongue. He’s not too experienced, but you’re drawing it out of him. He stays still and lets you suck his tongue and his lip until he’s breathing heavily and you get that pretty whimper out of him. 

“Bro,” he whispers when you pull away. But you’re moving to his neck, nuzzling your face in just under his jaw until your mouth opens and you leave light sucks and licks, working your way down. He shudders and his arms squirm under your grip as his back arches lightly from the door. “Bro,” he says again, something between shock and desperation. It’s fucking gorgeous. 

You pull away once more and hold his chin. He doesn’t fight you, he’s limp into your hold. He wants you to have control. 

“Sleep in my room tonight,” you say. You don’t ask. 

He nods. You run a hand through his hair and move away to let him go. He sheds his hoodie and tosses it onto the couch before he disappears down the hallway. You slowly undress, leaving articles of clothing beside the purple sweater on the couch. You slip your belt off until you’re standing in your jeans and you start making your day down the hallway to see your bedroom light is off, but there’s a soft glow coming from your lamp near the bed. 

You drink a little water, taking your colored contacts out, and then make your way into your room. Dirk is lying on your bed in an orange pair of boxers, his shades on your nightstand, and he’s spread out in a relaxed position while you’re frozen in the doorway. You study his muscles and the bumps of his ribs and the way the shadows fall across his pale skin and bring focus to all of his freckles. 

“You’re pretty,” you say softly. 

He smiles, his head resting on his arm as he stares at you. You leave the light off and the lamp on as you put your knees on the bed, the mattress dipping lightly as you bend your body forward and kiss him softly. He rolls completely onto his back, his arms lying at his sides limply, but you catch his fingers twitching as you both start up a slow rhythm in your kissing, your tongues meeting every time as you catch his scent with every intake. Your fingers run through his hair until you’re gripping it, pinning him even though he’s already under your control. He makes that soft whimper that you love when you pull away and he pulls at your grip in his hair, trying to follow your mouth. 

“Please,” he murmurs. 

You shush him and kiss his chin. His cheek. His jaw, softly. His neck, your tongue lingering. He makes a soft whine. You kiss his collarbone, a spot that can be covered by a shirt, and you press in to start sucking while occasionally rubbing a piece of skin between your teeth. Dirk’s hands finally move, one playing with your hair and another gripping at your shoulder, and you make a hum as you suck until there’s a large red and purple hickey on him. It’s beautiful to see that smooth skin marked by you.

“I want you,” Dirk mutters. “In me.”

“No,” you whisper back. 

“Bro—”

“You’ve never done it before. We gotta work up, okay? I don’t even have a condom here.” 

He tilts his head, giving you a teasing quizzical look. “Really?”

“Shut up. Another day, okay?” 

“You think we’ll still be like this another day?” 

He looks hopeful and you stare at him for a while as you think. You’re done thinking by the time your sigh works its way out from your nose. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I do.” 

He holds your neck and pulls you down. He seems to like it when you kiss his neck, so that’s where you go again, kissing and sucking light enough not to leave too many marks, and the weight of your body settles down on top of him. He makes the most gorgeous gasp, his fingers clawing to your back. You’re already learning what he likes, what turns him on. He’s spent his whole life needing to understand things, to control things. 

He likes when it breaks and you take the lead. But just you. 

You rub up his smooth side, feeling each hill of his ribs that expand when he takes in large breaths of air. You lick up the middle of his throat and his back arches under your touch and you feel down his spine as your thigh slips between his own thighs. 

“Dave,” he shudders out. 

_That_ sound is beautiful.

“It’s my first, don’t tease,” he adds after a bit. 

And it’s true, you don’t want to drag this out over the next hour. He’s new and you know he can’t last that long and you can’t ask that of him, not with how nervous he is. You’ve got to ease into this, just like when he began speaking and communicating. 

You’re gripping his hair again, your kisses still careful at his neck until you’re licking under his ear. That’s when you roll your hips down, your thigh rubbing up against his crotch. A choked moan comes out and it makes you hum in appreciation. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and his voice is so shaky. “It’s okay. For you to…” 

He’s holding your hair and you understand. You grind your hips again and start to suck, just under his jaw. He whimpers as you intend to leave another hickey, another beautiful love bite to show who’s been here and who he belongs to. And who he equally owns. You make another one on the middle of his neck and you let out your first moan when you feel him moan first, your hips starting a slow rhythm as you drag yourself against the one who lays under you. He’s already getting hard. 

It makes you pause for a moment, letting out some harsh breaths on his neck. You raised him. You’re touching your kid… 

“Dave,” he whispers. He’s petting your hair. “It’s okay. I’m an adult, I’m consenting. It’s just you.” 

You don’t move for a few seconds. But then you nod and bury yourself into his neck, your pace picking up again. You can feel the fabric dragging together, buttons occasionally catching, and you can feel his quick breaths gasp through your own body as if you were morphing into one being, as if you were already inside him. You pull from his neck and hover your face over his, but you don’t kiss him. You just let your lips touch, just brushing as spit catches and connects and you can feel the air rushing in and out of him, rushing into your own mouth. 

His skin is so smooth. You can feel the bump of his hips, the dip of his pale stomach, and you find any fabric that’s left covering him and you push it down so that you can gaze at all of him, gorgeously exposed from head to toe. 

His chest lifts and falls almost in time with his fast heartbeat as he stares up at you. He’s not embarrassed that he’s naked in front of you. He’s averaged sized and he has long legs like you and you wish you had your camera. His hair is a mess and his eyes are dimmed. You want this sight forever, you’re so scared that you’ll forget one day. 

You remind yourself that you’ll see it again soon. He’ll let you. 

You’re overcome with emotion as your kick your jeans and briefs away and kneel there over him for only a moment and you watch his eyes look down at where you’re held up on your knees, and then his gaze goes up to your face. His cheeks are so red. His chest is flushing red now. 

You’re pressing yourself against him again and he makes the sweetest gasp as your weight pins him and your cocks align. His is already wet. You press down with your hips and roll up and he whines in your ear, his arms clutching around you as his legs lift, his heels pressing into your back to make you continue. You don’t plan on stopping. It’s his first time, there’s no reason to make foreplay last forever, and it’s been a while for you too. You suck his neck, his bottom lip, you kiss his forehead and you hold his hair so you can stare at his face and memorized it. His jaw is dropped open and he’s gasping with every breath, every other one coming out as a whine or a moan, and he’s red, there’s sweat on his forehead, and when his eyes crack open to look at you it’s like you’re seeing the sun set for the first time. 

“I love you,” he whines out when he catches you staring. 

You don’t have to say it back. You kiss him hard and he groans into your mouth while a free hand reaches down to grip you both together. His body jolts right against you, sending it straight through your nerves, and you skip stroking and go straight to pumping. He’s squirming in pleasure and he’s shaking and writhing under you. When he needs to really breathe you stop kissing him and you let him cling to you. Like a child. His nails are in your shoulder blades, his face in your neck. His toes are curling in against your back. 

“Tell me to,” he chokes out, his voice pitching up an octave. 

“What?” 

“Tell me to, please!”

“You can come, Dirk.” 

When he cries out, it’s honestly the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever heard in your life, and it’s your real name on his lips as his back arches, body pressing even flusher to yours. His whole body is shuddering and you can feel the warmth between you two, and on your hand. You stroke him through all of his orgasm until you can finish too and you clutch him tightly, your teeth in his shoulder. 

You take care of him first. You look at his face as he pants heavily, his ribs stretching with each breath. You run a hand back through his sweaty hair and you kiss his forehead, his nose, his lips. 

“You okay?” you mutter. 

He looks exhausted, but a tired smile comes to his face. He nods once and closes his eyes again, his hand loosely holding at your arm, his thumb stroking your skin. 

You both will shower in the morning. Right now you hold him, flesh to flesh, after you’ve cleaned up your mess so that the silk and cotton of your blankets can get to warming you up after you’ve both cooled down after your activities. You rub the waves that his body shapes down his side, across his ribs, his hip, his thigh, and back up to his shoulder where you kiss him. 

He whispers, “You’re a loser.” 

And you smile and mutter into his hair. “I know.” 

 

* * * *

 

Your name is Dirk Strider. Dave Strider’s younger brother. 

You’re wearing a very nice suit. The best suit, actually. Dave took you to the tailor himself and had it made specifically for you. You know how to tie a tie, but you made sure that Dave did it for you before tonight. He had tied it a little tightly, tugged you close, and kissed you hard. Then he patted the tie down and buttoned your jacket with a smug grin. 

You arrived in a limo and now you’re three rows away from the stage. Dave kept you close so that you weren’t alarmed or afraid of all the photographers and reporters and fans that lined the red carpet. You took an extra pill before the event and being around Dave helps you stay calm. You’ve gotten used to his fame and you did a good job staying calm and posing for cameras with your older brother. He held your hand the whole ride here. The second he stepped out of the limo he was world famous director Dave Strider. In the secrecy of both of your minds he’s also your lover and partner. 

He sits next to you now. He looks better in his suit. He has a bright red tie. He always wears something bright red, it’s his signature way to wear a suit, and the media can’t forget about those mysterious shades. Even after he revealed his eyes to the public after the crash, the news never got leaked. They’re still a secret for you.

You’re in a huge crowd of celebrities and hard workers of the Hollywood industry. Stiller is two rows down. Bullock is three seats down to your left, and you saw Matthew Mcconaughey on the way in. Dave got him to sign an autograph that he plans to give to John eventually. Neil Patrick Harris is across the aisle with his husband and he even came over to chat with Dave and he shook your hand and you almost started sweating and gasping in shock. 

Dave suddenly holds your hand. It’s a public display that neither of you will be questioned for. You rub your thumb over his scars while the host on the stage speaks into the main microphone, her voice booming everywhere. 

“And the award for Best Director goes to…” 

The ripping of the envelope. There’s a camera facing you and Dave, but mostly Dave. Across the country he’s being shown on TV screens next to five other impressive directors. Rose and Roxy are watching and Jake is watching on his island probably cheering with his grandmother. Jane and her father probably have a TV set up in their new bakery. John is probably in a hotel room somewhere on his new tour, making fun of his friend on the screen while rooting for him at the same time. 

The host says, “Dave Strider, _Prodigy_.” 

You feel as if you won. Your chest feels tight and warm and you’re happy and you don’t think about how millions of people are watching you as you stand up with Dave and wrap your arms around his neck and you laugh into his ear. He grips you tightly, hands all the way around until they’re cupping your ribs. The entire audience cheers. A lot of them stand. They’ve seen the reality of his movie, your lives. 

Dave kisses your head and walks past you so he can make his way to the stage, cameras following him. He buttons his black suit jacket that makes him look slim and gorgeous and he shakes the host’s hand and takes his fancy award, golden and gleaming. He holds it up, but he’s not showing off. He wants you to see what he’s done, the same way you beamed at him after your lecture. 

He speaks so smoothly and cracks some quick ranting jokes about how he could make _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff_ and then suddenly flip around and make a movie like this that can touch hearts. He thanks his cast and his crew. He thanks Rose. 

He thanks you and he looks straight at you, even as he wears his shades. He’s radiating pride and happiness. He says he loves you into the microphone, but only you know how deep that love goes.

Tonight, when this is over, you’ll both find a limo again. You’ll go the hotel you’re both staying in for the weekend. You’ll both slowly undress each other from these tight and restricting suits until you both can stand close in the shower, hands over each other’s body. The award will sit on the nightstand next to the two beds, but one will hold your luggage, the other will hold your bodies intertwined, most likely panting and moving together until they’re limp and wrapped up as one, sleeping breaths mingling. There will be no cameras and no one else to know your secrets. 

But right now your brother is thanking you in front of the entire country. He’s laughing and it’s the most emotion and happiness he’s ever shown for a camera. You’re happiness is highest when you see him loving himself and his life, the same way you always have. 

The last scene from his movie plays behind him on a large screen as he finishes up his thank yous. The man who your brother casted to play himself is standing up and cheering with a large crowd. The boy that Dave casted to play you is standing on a stage wearing a microphone, showing off his AI. He wanted to end his movie with the happiest moment of his life while your happiest moment is playing out right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH, I DID IT, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! Again, I REALLY love your comments, they make me so happy. c: I love chatting. You can bug me at my Tumblr too (Plajus) if you want. :D Maybe I'll put up fanart or make some I dunno. Anyway, this was soooo much fun to write. I'll be hella busy with school so who knows when I'll write another story but I hope you all will stick around. I'm so thankful for all your comments and just thanks and yayyyyyy. c:


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/16/2015: surprise!!!! WHERE DID THIS EPILOGUE COME FROM???? i missed my two gay brothers while i was on vacation and wrote this up for you people! <3333 hope you like it c:

You are Dirk Strider and you are sitting inside of a limo, waiting for your brother. He’s holding his Oscar in his right hand, the shiny and heavy gold full of his fingerprints and smudges since his palms got sweaty from excitement. You remember, you were holding them just a minute ago. 

He’s hugging Rose who’s in a gorgeous black lace dress. The cameras and flashing were getting to you and Dave walked you down to the limo so you could relax inside while he finished up posing for pictures and saying goodbye to close friends, like Rose. You mess around on your phone until there’s a knock on your window. 

Roxy is there. She’s in a short dress, but it’s a pretty mix of pink and black. Her lips are as dark as ever, a spitting image of her mother, and her skin grows paler as you lower your window and get rid of the dark gray tint that separated you two. She grins and practically falls through the window as she plummets into the limo, wrapping her arms around you. 

“Congrats, babe!”

“For what?” you manage, holding her shoulders instead of hugging her, because if you don’t she’ll slip right in and hit her head. 

“For your brother!”

“Then go hug him, I didn’t do anything.” 

“You made him who he is. And happy, too.” She whaps the back of your head before shimmying her hips so she can get out of her teetering position and put her feet firmly on the ground again, her heels clicking. While fixing her hair she says, “My moms and I love you two, you know that right?” 

“We love you too, Rox,” you say. 

“We love you no matter what, okay? We’re worried.”

“About what?” 

You sigh right after. You know exactly what they’re worried about. You know the Lalonde-Maryam family is very open minded, open minded enough to accept two brothers dating, but Rose is probably telling Dave this very second to stop this fucked up relationship. Or he’ll ruin your future, the same shit he used to say to you. Just when he’s gotten over it and has stopped all his stressing about it they’re going to make him second guess… 

“We’re afraid you’ll start listening to society,” Roxy says. “We’re afraid you’ll break up over dumb reasons, like calling it gross.” 

Scratch everything, the Lalonde-Maryams are perfect. 

You smile and reach out through the window, holding her hand. You rub your thumb on her nails that are painted black with sparkles in them. 

“Thanks. We’re going to be fine.”

“I know. Looks like Mama wants to go, so I’ll see you at the shop, okay?” 

You nod and Roxy smiles, taking off to join Rose and Kanaya. Cameras are on them as if the three celebrities are talking about secret plans to overthrow the government. Rose and Kanaya hug your brother once more, the Oscar hanging in his left hand, and you watch him kiss Rose’s cheek as he pulls away. He even hugs Roxy when she reaches them and starts waving, making his way towards where the limo is parked. 

You scoot over when the door opens, letting Dave slide in next to you. He yells one more goodbye to Rose and then pulls the door shut. He pats the wall behind the driver to let him know that you were good to go. Then his finger pushes a button that raises the wall between you and the driver, separating you and Dave from him so that you two are alone. 

It’s quite as the engine starts up. You slump in your seat and start tugging on your tie to loosen it. You glance at your brother who is holding the golden award in his hands. He’s just staring at it, turning it over in his hands and then rubbing a thumb over the little plaque that has his name on it, the name of the movie, and the title of “Best Director.” 

You reach over, covering his hand. He blinks as if he just woke up and then looks over at you and you smile. 

“You’re prettier than your actor,” he says, his voice soft. 

“I know,” you say and smile. 

He smiles back and takes the second hand off of the Oscar, holding onto yours tightly. Then he leans over, his lips brushing your cheek almost hesitantly. The windows are tinted and you’re separate from the driver and you don’t know why he’s nervous about this. You two have been together for almost a year now. He grew out of his worry pretty quickly, but every once in a while he’ll stop and stare at you with this self-realization, this self-hate, some type of shock from realizing what he’s doing with the kid he raised himself. The times this happens are rare and you let them go. 

But you don’t let him hesitate this time. You turn and close the distance, kissing him firmly and breathing out slowly through your noise. He breathes in instead, taken aback by your sudden actions, but his hand comes up to cup your jaw. His skin is so smooth, and his fingernails are at the perfect length to making a tickling sensation as his knuckles curl in (he gets manicures sometimes, but he’d kill you if you told the tabloids).

Your lips make a soft smack as you pull away, your eyes opening a few moments later. Dave’s are still closed. The award is practically dangling in his fingers. 

You’re not good at being dramatic, and it’s hard to have serious or completely sappy moments, so you have no idea where this comes from, but you whisper to him, “I’m so proud of you.” 

He opens his eyes, looking at the golden statue and scoffing lightly. “Oh, kid,” he sighs, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you in close. You put half of your face to his chest, the tux he’s wearing smelling clean. But underneath is the smell you fall asleep to every night. 

The ride is slow and a little bumpy to the hotel. You doze off from the way that Dave is rubbing your back. If you press your face lightly to his neck you can smell the real him better. 

He nudges you when you reach the hotel. The separator lowers and you have to let go of your brother’s hand as you both slide out and make your way towards the building. Rose, Kanaya and Roxy are all supposed to be staying at the same hotel, but they stayed behind to mingle. Dave enjoys after parties, but he never stays long, and he promised you could both go to the hotel as soon as possible with no parties when the Academy Awards were over. 

When the elevator doors close you lean in against Dave. He makes a tired hum, hand rubbing your back again. 

“Where will you put him?” you ask, looking at the award. 

“Dunno. He’d make a good paper weight for when I’m editing out on the balcony.” 

You shrug in agreement. The screen over the buttons says you’re passing the fifth floor. You say, “You could hang drying cups on him.” 

“We don’t own a hammer and he seems durable.”

“We could slam him into the floor when the neighbors downstairs get rowdy.” 

You’re passing the eleventh floor.

“He could hold up books,” Dave says.

“We could put him next to the key bowl and use him as a weapon.” 

“That’s true, we don’t even own a baseball bat.”

“Or a golf club.” 

“How did we survive this long?” 

You both smile at each other. The elevator doors open on the eighteenth floor. You follow Dave down the hallway, the walls full of decorations that no common hotel has. He slips the key card in and out of room 1821’s handle until the green light shows and he leads you in first. 

To keep suspicions away, there’s two queen size beds. But one of them has your two bags of luggage and the other one has messy blankets from you both sleeping in it last night. The cabinets and nightstands are sleek and the bathroom looks like it’s made from marble and there’s a wonderful view from the balcony. You’re used to fancy things by now, but sometimes rooms like this in hotels like this put you in that awe from extreme upper class life. 

You drop your tie on the floor while Dave turns on the lamp by the bed. He collapses on his back on the bed you two sleep in while you pass him to go into the small kitchen that came with the room, filling up a glass with water. You’ve been thirsty for the last hour. 

When you walk back into the other room, Dave is still lying on the bed. His arms are spread out, but his toes are still touching the floor. You can tell he’s exhausted, but your insomnia has you wide awake right now. The only tiredness you feel is from the anxiety that came with tonight. You kneel on the floor and unlace Dave’s shoes, slipping them off and putting them by the desk in the room. When you stand up again you see that his eyes are closed. 

“Bro,” you mutter. 

He doesn’t stir, but his fingers are still closed around the award, not limp with sleep. You touch his shoulder and run it down his arm, feeling the smooth fabric of his suit until you’re touching his fingers, the ones full of scars from the crash, and you pull them off of the Oscar until he gives in and lets go. You put it on the nightstand, the fingerprints more obvious in the dim light. 

His eyes are still closed. You move, straddling his waist. He’s limp, but he’s not sleeping. You undo his buttons and drop his tie on the floor. One button at a time. His chest is exposed, pale but toned, and you put your hands on his stomach and slide them up to his collarbones. From there you cup his neck and then lean your head down, checking to see if he’s actually asleep by just breathing on his lips. 

For a while, he’s still. It makes you smile. Then he gives in and finally moves, his chin tilting up so that he can catch your lips and kiss you. You lower so that he can rest his head back again and kiss him deeply, your actions passionate but slow, the quiet room filled only with shifting clothes and wet smacks. When you pull away to kiss his neck he lets out an audible breath. 

“So proud,” you whisper, pressing open mouthed kisses under his jaw.

“Dirk.”

“I wanna fuck.” 

“Dirk…” 

If he says no, of course you’ll listen. But he doesn’t protest as your hands grope down, undoing his pants. Instead, his hands grope your ass and you grind down against him with a shaky breath. 

It’s a wonderful night. You both undress each other, even when he’s tired, but you kind of like him when he’s tired, and it’s probably why you two have great morning sex. When he’s tired he’s sappy and likes making sweet love. Right now you want a little of both. 

When you’re both naked he ditches you because he wants to pee first and you lay on the bed with an eye roll, watching the ceiling fan spin slow enough for your eyes to follow it. You turn the temperature down in the room to sixty-eight and then peek through the curtains in front of the balcony. You can see the city for miles, tons of lights keeping the night away even though it’s two in the morning.

You don’t hear Dave coming, but you feel his hands suddenly on your hips, his chest pressing to your back. After you flinch his hands caress your stomach and chest, his lips kissing your head rather than licking or sucking. You both just look outside, your hands rubbing his arms. 

“How’s the shop?” he asks.

“Good. Hired a new engineer. She’s not amazing, but she seems really happy to learn from me. She’s an easy learner too, she’ll be an expert in a month.” 

“She’s lucky you’re not a sexist asshole.” 

You chuckle and lean back into him, sighing when he nuzzles by your ear. You and Roxy’s business grew a little too big for the garage under your apartment building, so you bought a building that was close to downtown. You and Roxy have only hired about six people, it’s still a small business, but it’s high demand too. You sell specialized AIs and robots still, things that even several celebrities own. 

“Did you like the movie?” Dave asks. 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum. “I closed my eyes a few times.”

“Car crash.”

“Yeah. But Bradly did a great job.” 

“I know. I’m really glad you spent time with him. I’d hate a shitty representation.” 

“God, I know, I was worried about that. If I hadn’t had spoken to him he would have acted like Bella in New Moon, moping around and staring out windows. He didn’t act like a zombie when he had to act out my mute phases.”

“You picked well.” 

You hum again as an agreement. Bradly is the actor you picked to play yourself in Dave’s movie. You were really nervous about hanging out with a stranger, but the boy had been so excited to learn from you, and you told him about how anxiety really works, how panic attacks actually work, and how wrong most portrayals are in movies. You spent a day at Starbucks with him, telling him how it felt to be stuck inside yourself when you were mute, both when a child and after the second crash. He listened and took notes and asked questions. Sometimes when Dave took you to set, you got to help and tell Bradly how to act and tell him how you actually felt when that scene happened in the past. 

You had a kid to play your younger self too. You didn’t know how to explain to a kid how your mutism worked, so Bradly did it for you. He’s still a good friend, and even while he’s big and famous now thanks to your brother he continues to text you and asks to hang out. 

You’ve been more social after that. You’re still an introvert and enjoy staying home, but occasionally you head outside to see new friends and it’s been nice. 

“Love you,” Dave whispers, kissing over your ear. 

“I know.” 

“So you really liked it?”

“Yes, Bro,” you say, smiling. “I loved it. It was amazing. It was perfect. You did a great job and I love how happy you are.” 

“I am. I am happy. I feel like I let it all go.”

You both watch the city a while longer, listening to the honking down below and revving engines in the distance. Then the curtain is closed and you both are back to the bed and the lube is taken out and the condoms are left unopened. You both have been tested several times and you both trust each other more than anything, there have never been worries about cheating. 

You finger yourself first, and when you reach two fingers Dave takes over. You pant into his shoulder, kissing and licking there as his nails run down your back, three long fingers opening you up.

You ride him first. He sits up on pillows, holding your hips as you rest onto his thighs, getting that full feeling inside of you. He isn’t the size of a porn star, but God do you love it. You breathe harshly as you get adjusted and Dave sits up more to kiss you, your tongues rubbing together as his hands pull and knead at your ass until your shaking and shoving him back so you can start lifting yourself and pushing yourself down again. 

The pace picks up and you’re moaning, bouncing on his dick in a heavy and intense atmosphere. You open your eyes after crying out once and you catch Dave staring at you in a way that makes you melt. Your self-confidence hasn’t been the best, especially because of the anxiety, but Dave always makes you feel like you’re the only star in the sky, especially when he looks at you the way he is now. He looks at you like there’s nothing else in the room, like he’s seeing an angel for the first time, and his hands touch you as if he’ll never get another chance. 

Right now, it’s so intense. His stare is better than any other stare he’s given you and you slow down your hips when his hands hold at your face, his red irises burning you, and you can feel the scars on his hand making lines into your skin that sear. The tips of his fingers brush so carefully against the scar on your forehead, and you break. 

You fall apart and start crying, and you don’t know why. He doesn’t freak out. He keeps holding your face and he kisses you between your eyes as you gasp and cry and hold onto him. It all just feels so good. It all feels so, so, so, so good, God you love him so much, the idea of losing him makes you hurt, but you could never say that aloud. 

“Oh, precious,” he whispers, right into your ear, causing you to melt from the inside as his arms begin to wrap around you. 

“You f-fucking su—fucking suck. Hate you,” you sobs. 

He chuckles breathily and starts shifting, clutching you close to his chest as he rolls you onto your back and takes your favorite position. You know he likes it when you ride him, especially when he’s tired, but you absolutely love it when he’s on top of you, you love the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, when he surrounds you.

He pins you and kisses you, sucking your breath away. He’s fucks you, but it’s somehow sweet and loving and your sobs jump into cries of pleasure as you’re overtaken by emotions and sensations while Dave lets loose a string of compliments and sweet talk that make you sting inside your brain and deep in your gut. 

He cums inside you, scratching your spine and biting your shoulder. He strokes you through the rest, thrusting into you at the same time until your own cum hits his hand and your stomach, your moan of pleasure cutting off into hitched sobs. 

When it’s all over, he cradles you. He sits up, holding you like a baby, carding his fingers through your hair and caressing what he can. 

“Shh, baby. Breathe. It’s okay. You okay? We didn’t even use the handcuffs.” 

You laugh lightly through your crying, holding him around his neck. You’re both sweaty, but you still like the feeling of being flesh to flesh.

“I love you,” you whisper. You hope it says everything. 

He makes a low hum and rocks back and forth, pressing a kiss over the spot he bit. You have a few more new hickeys and a bruise, but you love being marked by him. Six months ago you introduced handcuffs and blindfolds into the bedroom. And now you both have experienced more with BDSM, and aftercare is just as good as the actual sex. 

“I love you,” he finally replies. “Very much. You did so well. Are you okay? Is something wrong?” 

“No. No. There’s nothing wrong.” 

After ten more minutes, when you both have even breathing and chilling skin, you walk to the bathroom where the shower is large enough for you two to share. You both dislike shower sex. Unless you have soap to make the touch of skin smoother it mostly feels sticky. One time Dave’s foot slipped while he had you up against the wall, buried in your ass. You hit your head and he bruised up his knees and you both put up an ironic sign that says “BJs ONLY!” in the shower (you have to remember to take it down whenever guests come over). 

He washes your hair for you and your eyes are only a little puffy from crying. You feel better now and Dave helps clean you out so you can sleep more comfortably. He turns the heat up, right at the temperature you love, and he holds you to his chest so you can share the showerhead and just stand there for a while since you can use up as much water as you want at the hotel.

After, Dave uses the hair dryer like he always does since it’s the only way he can get his hair the way he wants it. It’s something Hollywood did to him, but you don’t care. You dry off your body, catching his eyes in the mirror. He smiles and you blush like you’ve got a crush and rub your face with the towel. 

You wear one of his shirts as pajamas, and it hangs to your thighs. He puts on a pair of sweatpants and joins you in bed, sitting up on the pillows as he opens his laptop on his legs to start checking emails and social media. You lay on your side, playing on your phone. You find a text from Roxy that says “did you do the bang a rang??? wonk wonk wonk wonk.” You smile and reply with “You know it.” Jake texted too and said congrats for Dave and that he had a fun time watching you two on TV with his grandmother. Jane texted too and said you looked great in your suit. 

After replying to everyone and scrolling through your Tumblr for ten minutes you plug your phone into its charger and put it on the nightstand. You roll back over, leaning on Dave’s arm. 

“What’cha doin’?” you ask. 

“Email,” he says. 

“What’s next?” 

“Photoshoot next week.”

“I meant for movies.” 

He sighs and presses the send button on the screen. His arm goes around you, fingers running through your hair. You’re so tired now that it makes you practically purr. Then he says gently, “Taking three months off. I’ll write a little, but no meetings or anything like that.” 

You blink slowly. He’s never had that much time off since you moved to L.A. 

“Three months,” you echo. 

“Three months.” 

“Huh… Bro?”

“Hm?”

“I want a private island when we’re old. Maybe near Jake’s island. We can live there and we can fuck with the windows open and go swimming and have a fake marriage. Roxy can officiate.”

“I thought you didn’t want marriage.” 

“Not the big shit with official papers. We can get Ring Pops and wear our PJs for all I care. Okay, not Ring Pops. I think I’d really like a real ring. Nothing with a diamond. But something that’s, like, under a hundred bucks on Amazon. I’d like that.”

He doesn’t say anything and you feel a nervousness resting in your gut. Dave was always worried you’d start wanting things like children and marriage and a public relationship. A relationship where you can hold hands and kiss in public. You still want none of that stuff, you don’t need a paper that says you’re married, you don’t need to smooch him in front of cameras, and you don’t want kids, you want to be alone with Dave forever, but damn it if you don’t want to play into stupid hetero traditions and wear a ring. 

“So you want to have sex with the window open?” Dave says. 

“Hm.” 

Dave’s arm that’s around you moves until he holds your hand, his thumb rubbing over your ring finger. Then he mutters, “It’d look nice. Got a favorite stone?”

“Cavansite? Croncoite matches your eyes. Opal is nice.”

“I’ll look into it. You’ll have to wear it at home.”

“I know. Can I wear it on a different finger when we go out?” 

“Maybe. Hey, did you have a good night? Not too scary?”

“Nah. More used to it now. It was cool meeting people and it was chill with you near me. I just… Wow, it was weird.” 

“What was weird?” 

He’s typing again and you just watch for a bit. He’s emailing his agent and you watch the way he stops typing extremely fast to just tap at the number keys. He’s never been great at them, he has to stare at the keyboard and poke like he’s L in Death Note or some shit. It makes you smile lightly as you close your eyes.

“Remember the first time I flew?” you ask. 

“Mm-hm. When we moved to L.A.”

“Yeah. And I hyperventilated. And my eyes got all watery and I squeezed your hand until it probably broke.” 

“Sometimes I still feel it.”

“Oh, shut up. Anyway, even though I was panicking I was looking out the window at the same time. I watched everything become small, and I watched us break through clouds until we were on top of them and it was so amazing. It was gorgeous, it was something humans had to work so hard at to achieve. Some people have never seen the world from that view. I was struck with wonder, even though I was panicked. That’s what it felt like when they said your name.” 

He doesn’t reply. He finishes his email and sends it and closes his laptop, setting it over on the nightstand on his side. He presses the home button on his phone and it looks like he has a text, but he ignores it and locks the screen before shifting down farther into the blankets and turning towards you to wrap you up and tug you close so he can kiss your head. 

“I still can’t believe it,” he says softly. 

“Me either. But it happened.” You pause and feel him breathe on your hair and then you say, “Airport security is going to have a field day when they see that statue show up on that X-ray thingy.” 

Dave laughs against you and you think he’s staring at the Oscar right now. 

“I used to have a knife on my nightstand,” he says. 

You say nothing. 

“There were at least two break ins at that last apartment building we had. Shit, we didn’t even had a nightstand. I slept with it under the pillow. It’s another reason I took the main room and gave you the bedroom. Any asshole that wanted to steal our secondhand clothes had to go through me first.” 

You still say nothing. At least for a minute. You’re so tired and worn out, but you hold on for a while longer because you don’t want this feeling to end. You whisper after a bit, “And now you have an Oscar on the nightstand.” 

“And now I have an Oscar on the nightstand…” 

“Bro.”

“Hm.”

“Do I make you feel loved?” 

“What?” 

“I just… That’s why I cried. I just love how much you love me. Sometimes I spiral into those moments of depression, and even though you can’t always pull me out of them you at least make sure I know how much you love me. You always make me feel so special and I want to know if I make you feel the same way.” 

He lets out a heavy sigh, lifting your head since you’ve rested yourself over his lungs. You can hear each breath as his ribs gently stretch for him. 

“I could never know how you really feel. I’m not you,” he says. “But that’s good. If I knew what you felt all the time then there’d be no fun to a relationship. It’s about learning. I don’t know exactly what I make you feel, I’m just happy that it makes you feel good. And you can’t know exactly how I feel, but I promise you that I’ve never been happier in my life, okay? I haven’t had my depression come back in years. It feels like that second airplane ride. The one after the panicking, when you don’t have to worry and you can spend your time enjoying the view instead. That’s kind of what this life is like now. It’s amazing and I’m enjoying the view and holding your hand and we worked hard to get up there.” 

“That was good. You should put that in your next movie.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll write it down tomorrow. Right now I’m going to snooze and don’t you dare wake me.”

“You know I pee early in the morning, I’ll be crawling out of your arms.”

“Nope.”

“I’ll pee on you, Bro.”

“Well, we haven’t tried watersports yet.”

“Oh my God, shut up and sleep.” 

He chuckles and rubs your back, fingers parting up through your hair until he’s reaching out to find the lamp. He turns it off and the room goes dark except for a few lights from the smoke detector and the power button on the TV and a gentle glow from beyond the balcony curtains. You know Dave doesn’t sleep right away. He rubs your back, and as your eyes adjust to the dark you see him looking at the ceiling. 

You see a bit of shine on the statue. Ten minutes pass. You shift and press your lips to Dave’s. He kisses back very sweetly and strokes your cheek, holding your hand after and tracing the spot that a ring would go. 

“I want to grow old with you,” you whisper. 

“Good,” he whispers back. 

His hands slow down and you can hear his breathing under your ear even out. He’s limp and you just feel him as he sleeps. You touch his hand and his chest and feel his heartbeat and you swear that both of your heartbeats have lined up, and that’s when you sleep too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, hope you liked the epilogue i decided to add! you can comment if you want or bug me on my tumblr (plajus), love you guys!


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